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LETTERS  OF  MARQUE 


BY 

RUDYARD  KIPLING 


New  York 
THE  LOVELL   COMPANY 

23  DuANE  Street 


LETTERS  OF  MARQUE 


Except  for  those  who,  under  compulsion 
of  a  sick  certificate,  are  flying  Bombaywards, 
it  is  good  for  every  man  to  see  some  little  of 
the  great  Indian  Empire  and  the  strange  folk 
who  move  about  it.  It  is  good  to  escape  for 
a  time  from  the  House  of  Rimmon —  be  it 
office  or  cutchery — and  to  go  abroad  under  no 
more  exacting  master  than  personal  inclina- 
tion, and  with  no  more  definite  plan  of  travel 
than  has  the  horse,  escaped  from  pasture, 
free  upon  the  countryside.  The  first  result  of 
such  freedom  is  extreme  bewilderment,  and 
the  second  reduces  the  freed  to  a  state  of  mind 
which,  for  his  sins,  must  be  the  normal  por- 
tion of  the  Globe-trotter — the  man  who  "  does  " 
kingdoms  in  days  and  writes  books  upon 
them  in  weeks.  And  this  desperate  facility 
is  not  as  strange  as  it  seems.  By  the  time 
that  an  Englishman  has  come  by  sea  and  rail 
via  America,  Japan,  Singapur,  and  Ceylon,  to 
India,  he  can — these  eyes  have  seen  him 
do  so — master  in  five  minutes  the  intricacies 

5 


6  Letters  of  Marque 

of  the  India?i  Bradshaw,  and  tell  an  old  resi- 
dent exactly  how  and  where  the  trains  run. 
Can  we  wonder  that  the  intoxication  of  suc- 
cess in  hasty  assimilation  should  make  him 
overbold,  and  that  he  should  try  to  grasp — but 
a  full  account  of  the  insolent  Globe-trotter 
must  be  reserved.  He  is  worthy  of  a  book. 
Given  absolute  freedom  for  a  month,  the  mind, 
as  I  have  said,  fails  to  take  in  the  situation 
and,  after  much  debate,  contents  itself  with 
following  in  old  and  well-beaten  ways — paths 
that  we  in  India  have  no  time  to  tread,  but 
must  leave  to  the  country  cousin  who  wears 
his/^^;v  tail-fashion  down  his  back,  and  says 
**  cabman"  to  the  dnvQX  oiiheticca-ghari. 

Now,  Jeypore  from  the  Anglo-Indian  point 
of  view  is  a  station  on  the  Rajputana-Malwa 
line,  on  the  way  to  Bombay,  where  half  an 
hour  is  allowed  for  dinner,  and  where  there 
ought  to  be  more  protection  from  the  sun  than 
at  present  exists.  Some  few,  more  learned 
than  the  rest,  know  that  garnets  come  from 
Jeypore,  and  here  the  limits  of  our  wisdom 
are  set.  We  do  not,  to  quote  the  Calcutta 
shopkeeper,  come  out  "  for  the  good  of  our 
'ealth,"  and  what  touring  we  accomplish  is 
for  the  most  part  off  the  line  of  rail. 

For  these  reasons,  and  because  he  wished 
to  study  our  winter  birds  of  passage,  one  of 
the  few  thousand  Englishmen  in  India  on  a 
date  and  in  a  place  which  have  no  concern 
with  the  story,  sacrificed  all  his  self-respect 
and  became — at  enormous  personal  inconve- 


Letters  of  Marque  7 

nience — a  Globe-trotter  going  to  Jeypore,  and 
leaving  behind  him  for  a  little  while  all  that 
old  and  well-known  life  in  which  Commis- 
sioners and  Deputy  Commissioners,  Governors 
and  Lieutenant-Governors,  Aides-de-camp, 
Colonels  and  their  wives,  Majors,  Captains, 
and  Subalterns  after  their  kind  move  and  rule 
and  govern  and  squabble  and  fight  and  sell 
each  other's  horses  and  tell  wicked  stories  of 
their  neighbors.  But  before  he  had  fully 
settled  into  his  part  or  accustomed  himself 
to  saying,  "  Please  take  out  this  luggage,"  to 
the  coolies  at  the  stations,  he  saw  from  the 
train  the  Taj  wrapped  in  the  mists  of  the 
morning. 

There  is  a  story  of  a  Frenchman  who  feared 
not  God,  nor  regarded  man,  sailing  to  Egypt 
for  the  express  purpose  of  scoffing  at  the 
Pyramids  and — though  this  is  hard  to  believe 
— at  the  great  Napoleon  who  had  warred 
under  their  shadow.  It  is  on  record  that 
that  blasphemous  Gaul  came  to  the  Great 
Pyramid  and  wept  through  mingled  reverence 
and  contrition ;  for  he  sprang  from  an  emo- 
tional race.  To  understand  his  feelings  it 
is  necessary  to  have  read  a  great  deal  too 
much  about  the  Taj,  its  design  and  propor- 
tions, to  have  seen  execrable  pictures  of  it  at 
the  Simla  Fine  Arts  Exhibition,  to  have  had 
its  praises  sung  by  superior  and  traveled 
friends  till  the  brain  loathed  the  repetition  of 
the  word,  and  then,  sulky  with  want  of  sleep, 
heavy-eyed,  unwashed,  and  chilled,  to  come 


8  Letters  of  Marque 

upon  it  suddenly.  Under  these  circumstances 
everything,  you  will  concede,  is  in  favor  of 
a  cold,  critical,  and  not  too  impartial  verdict. 
As  the  Englishman  leaned  out  of  the  carriage 
he  saw  first  an  opal-tinted  cloud  on  the 
horizon,  and,  later,  certain  towers.  The 
mists  lay  on  the  ground,  so  that  the  splendor 
seemed  to  be  floating  free  of  the  earth  ;  and 
the  mists  rose  in  the  background,  so  that  at 
no  time  could  everything  be  seen  clearly. 
Then  as  the  train  sped  forward,  and  the  mists 
shifted,  and  the  sun  shone  upon  the  mists, 
the  Taj  took  a  hundred  new  shapes,  each 
perfect  and  each  beyond  description.  It  was 
the  Ivory  Gate  through  which  all  good  dreams 
come  ;  it  was  the  realization  of  the  gleaming 
halls  of  dawn  that  Tennyson  sings  of  ;  it  was 
veritably  the  "  aspiration  fixed,"  the  "  sign 
made  stone,"  of  a  lesser  poet ;  and  over  and 
above  concrete  comparisons,  it  seemed  the 
embodiment  of  all  things  pure,  all  things  holy, 
and  all  things  unhappy.  That  was  the  mystery 
of  the  building.  It  may  be  that  the  mists 
wrought  the  witchery,  and  that  the  Taj  seen 
in  the  dry  sunlight  is  only,  as  guide-books 
say,  a  noble  structure.  The  Englishman 
could  not  tell,  and  has  made  a  vow  that  he 
will  never  go  nearer  the  spot,  for  fear  of  break- 
ing the  charm  of  the  unearthly  pavilions. 

It  may  be,  too,  that  each  must  view  the 
Taj  for  himself  with  his  own  eyes,  working 
out  his  own  interpretation  of  the  sight.  It  is 
certain  that  no  man  can  in  cold  blood  and 


Letters  of  Marque  9 

colder  ink  set  down  his  impressions  if  he  has 
been  in  the  least  moved. 

To  the  one  who  watched  and  wondered  that 
November  morning-  the  thing  seemed  full  of 
sorrow — the  sorrow  of  the  man  who  built  it 
for  the  woman  he  loved,  and  the  sorrow  of 
the  workmen  who  died  in  the  building — used 
up  like  cattle.  And  in  the  face  of  this  sorrow 
the  Taj  flushed  in  the  sunlight  and  was  beau- 
tiful, after  the  beauty  of  a  woman  who  has 
done  no  wrong. 

Here  the  train  ran  in  under  the  walls  of 
Agra  Fort,  and  another  train — of  thought 
incoherent  as  that  written  above — came  to 
an  end.  Let  those  who  scoff  at  overmuch 
enthusiasm  look  at  the  Taj  and  thenceforward 
be  dumb.  It  is  well  on  the  threshold  of  a 
journey  to  be  taught  reverence  and  awe. 

But  there  is  no  reverence  in  the  Globe-trot- 
ter :  he  is  brazen.  A  Young  Man  from  Man- 
chester was  traveling  to  Bombay  in  order — 
how  the  words  hurt ! — to  be  home  by  Christ- 
mas. He  had  come  through  America,  New 
Zealand,  and  Australia,  and  finding  that  he 
had  ten  days  to  spare  at  Bombay,  conceived 
the  modest  idea  of  "  doing  India."  "  I  don't 
say  that  I've  done  it  all ;  but  you  may  say 
that  I've  seen  a  good  deal."  Then  he  ex- 
plained that  he  had  been  "much  pleased"  at 
Agra,  "much  pleased  "  at  Delhi,  and,  last  pro- 
fanation, "very  much  pleased"  at  the  Taj. 
Indeed,  he  seemed  to  be  going  through  life 
just    then    "  much    pleased "    at    everything. 


10  Letters  of  Marque 

With  rare  and  sparkling  originality  he  remarked 
that  India  was  a  "big  place,"  and  that  there 
were  many  things  to  buy.  Verily,  this  Young 
Man  must  have  been  a  delight  to  the  Delhi 
boxwallahs.  He  had  purchased  shawls  and 
embroidery  "  to  the  tune  of  "  a  certain  num- 
ber of  rupees  duly  set  forth,  and  he  had 
purchased  jewelry  to  another  tune.  These 
were  gifts  for  friends  at  home,  and  he  consid- 
ered them  "  very  Eastern."  If  silver  filigree 
work  modeled  on  Palais  Royal  patterns,  or 
aniline  blue  scarves  be  Eastern,  he  had  suc- 
ceeded in  his  heart's  desire.  For  some  in- 
scrutable end  it  had  been  decreed  that  man 
shall  take  a  delight  in  making  his  fellow-man 
miserable.  The  Englishman  began  to  point 
out  gravely  the  probable  extent  to  which  the 
Young  Man  from  Manchester  had  been 
swindled,  and  the  Young  Man  said  :  '  By 
Jove.  You  don't  say  so.  I  hate  being  done. 
If  there's  anything  I  hate,  it's  being  done  !  " 
He  had  been  so  happy  in  the  "  thought  of 
getting  home  by  Christmas,"  and  so  charm- 
ingly communicative  as  to  the  members  of  his 
family  for  whom  such  and  such  gifts  were 
intended,  that  the  Englishman,  cut  short  the 
record  of  fraud  and  soothed  him  by  saying 
that  he  had  not  been  so  very  badly  "  done," 
after  all.  This  consideration  was  misplaced, 
for,  his  peace  of  mind  restored,  the  Young 
Man  from  Manchester  looked  out  of  the  win- 
dow and,  waving  his  hand  over  the  Empire 
generally,    said :    "  I    say.     Look    here.      All 


Letters  of  Marque  ii 

those  wells  are  wrong,  you  know  !  "  The  wells 
were  on  the  wheel  and  inclined  plane  system  ; 
but  he  objected  to  the  incline,  and  said  that  it 
would  be  much  better  for  the  bullocks  if  they 
walked  on  level  ground.  Then  light  dawned 
upon  him,  and  he  said :  "  I  suppose  it's  to 
exercise  all  their  muscles.  Y'  know  a  canal 
horse  is  no  use  after  he  has  been  on  the 
tow-path  for  some  time.  He  can't  walk  any- 
where but  on  the  flat,  y'  know,  and  I  suppose 
it's  just  the  same  with  bullocks."  The  spurs 
of  the  Aravalis,  under  which  the  train  was 
running,  had  evidently  suggested  this  brilliant 
idea  which  passed  uncontradicted,  for  the 
Englishman  was  looking  out  of  the  window. 

If  one  were  bold  enough  to  generalize  after 
the  manner  of  Globe-trotters,  it  would  be  easy 
to  build  up  a  theory  on  the  well  incident  to 
account  for  the  apparent  insanity  of  some  of 
our  cold  weather  visitors.  Even  the  Young 
Man  from  INfanchester  could  evolve  a  complete 
idea  for  the  training  of  well-bullocks  in  the 
East  at  thirty  seconds'  notice.  How  much 
the  more  could  a  cultivated  observer  from,  let 
us  say,  an  English  constituency,  blunder  and 
pervert  and  mangle  ?  We  in  this  country  have 
no  time  to  work  out  the  notion,  which  is  worthy 
of  the  consideration  of  some  leisurely  Teuton 
intellect. 

Envy  may  have  prompted  a  too  bitter  judg- 
ment of  the  Young  Man  from  Manchester  ; 
for,  as  the  train  bore  him  from  Jeypore  to 
Ahmedabad,  happy  in  "  his  getting  home  by 


12  Letters  of  Marque 

Christmas,"  pleased  as  a  child  with  his  Delhi 
atrocities,  pink-cheeked,  whiskered  and  su- 
perbly self-confident,  the  Englishman  whose 
home  for  the  time  was  a  dark  bungaloathsome 
hotel,  watched  his  departure  regretfully  ;  for  he 
knew  exactly  to  what  sort  of  genial,  cheery 
British  household,  rich  in  untraveled  kin,  that 
Young  Man  was  speeding.  It  is  pleasant  to 
play  at  Globe-trotting;  but  to  enter  fully  into 
the  spirit  of  the  piece,  one  must  also  be 
"going  home  for  Christmas." 


Letters  of  Marque  13 


11. 


If  any  part  of  a  land  strewn  with  dead  men's 
bones  have  a  special  claim  to  distinction, 
Rajputana,  as  the  cock-pit  of  India,  stands 
first.  East  of  Suez  men  do  not  build  towers 
on  the  tops  of  hills  for  the  sake  of  the  view, 
nor  do  they  stripe  the  mountain  sides  with 
bastioned  stone  walls  to  keep  in  cattle.  Since 
the  beginning  of  time,  if  we  are  to  credit  the 
legends,  there  was  fighting — heroic  fighting — 
at  the  foot  of  the  Aravalis  and  beyond,  in  the 
great  deserts  of  sand  penned  by  those  kindly 
mountains  from  spreading  over  the  heart 
of  India.  The  "  Thirty-six  Royal  Races  " 
fought  as  royal  races  know  how  to  do,  Chohan 
with  Rahtor,  brother  against  brother,  son 
against  father.  Later — but  excerpts  from  the 
tangled  tale  of  force,  fraud,  cunning,  desperate 
love  and  more  desperate  revenge,  crime  worthy 
of  demons  and  virtues  fit  for  gods,  may  be 
found,  by  all  who  care  to  look,  in  the  book  of 
the  man  who  loved  the  Rajputs  and  gave  a 
life's  labors  in  their  behalf.  From  Delhi  to 
Abu,  and  from  the  Indus  to  the  Chambul,  each 
yard  of  ground  has  witnessed  slaughter,  pil- 
lage, and  rapine.  But,  to-day,  the  capital  of 
the  State,  that  Dhola  Race,  son  of  Soora 
Singh,  hacked  out  more  than  nine  hundred 
years  ago  with  the  sword  from    some   weaker 


14  Letters  of  Marque 

ruler's  realm,  is  lighted  with  gas,  and  pos- 
sesses many  striking  and  English  peculiarities. 

Dhola  Rae  was  killed  in  due  time,  and  for 
nine  hundred  years  Jeypore,  torn  by  the  in- 
trigues of  unruly  princes  and  princelings, 
fought  Asiatically. 

When  and  how  Jeypore  became  a  feudatory 
of  British  power  and  in  what  manner  we  put 
a  slur  upon  Rajput  honor — punctilious  as 
the  honor  of  the  Pathan — are  matters  of 
which  the  Globe-trotter  knows  more  than  we 
do.  He  ' '  reads  up  " — to  quote  his  own  words 
— a  city  before  he  comes  to  us,  and,  straight- 
way going  to  another  city,  forgets,  or,  worse 
still,  mixes  what  he  has  learnt — so  that  in  the 
end  he  writes  down  the  Rajput  a  IVIahratta, 
says  that  Lahore  is  in  the  Northwest  Provinces, 
and  was  once  the  capital  of  Sivaji,  and  pite- 
ously  demands  a  "guide-book  on  all  India,  a 
thing  that  you  can  carry  in  your  trunk,  y'  know 
— that  gives  you  plain  descriptions  of  things 
without  mixing  you  up."  Here  is  a  chance 
for  a  writer  of  discrimination  and  void  of  con- 
science ! 

But  to  return  to  Jeypore — a  pink  city  set  on 
the  border  of  a  blue  lake,  and  surrounded  by 
the  low,  red  spurs  of  the  Aravalis — a  city  to 
see  and  to  puzzle  over.  There  was  once  a 
ruler  of  the  State,  called  Jey  Singh,  who  lived 
in  the  days  of  Aurungzeb,  and  did  him  service 
with  foot  and  horse.  He  must  have  been  the 
Solomon  of  Rajputana,  for  through  the  forty- 
four  years  of  his  reign  his  "  wisdom  remained 


Letters  of  Marque  15 

with  him."  He  led  armies,  and  when  fighting 
was  over,  turned  to  Hterature  ;  he  intrigued 
desperately  and  successfully,  but  found  time 
to  gain  a  deep  insight  into  astronomy,  and, 
by  what  remains  above  ground  now,  we  can 
tell  that  whatsoever  his  eyes  desired,  he  kept 
not  from  him.  Knowing  his  own  worth,  he 
deserted  the  city  of  i^mber  founded  by  Dhola 
Rae  among  the  hills,  and,  six  miles  further, 
in  the  open  plain,  bade  one  Vedyadhar,  his 
architect,  build  a  new  city,  as  seldom  Indian  city 
was  built  before — with  huge  streets  straight 
as  an  arrow,  sixty  yards  broad,  and  cross- 
streets  broad  and  straight.  Many  years  after- 
ward the  good  people  of  America  builded  their 
towns  after  this  pattern,  but  knowing  nothing 
of  Jey  Singh,  they  took  all  the  credit  to  them- 
selves. 

He  built  himself  everything  that  pleased  him, 
palaces  and  gardens  and  temples,  and  then 
died,  and  was  buried  under  a  white  marble 
tomb  on  a  hill  overlooking  the  city.  He  was 
a  traitor,  if  history  speaks  truth,  to  his  own  kin, 
and  he  was  an  accomplished  murderer,  but  he 
did  his  best  to  check  infanticide  ;  he  reformed 
the  Mahometan  calendar  ;  he  piled  up  a  superb 
library  and  he  made  Jeypore  a  marvel. 

Later  on  came  a  successor,  educated  and 
enlightened  by  all  the  lamps  of  British  Prog- 
ress, and  converted  the  city  of  Jey  Singh  into 
a  surprise — a  big,  bewildering,  practical  joke. 
He  laid  down  sumptuous  trottoirs  of  hewn 
stone,    and  central   carriage    drives,   also  of 


1 6  Letters  of  Marque 

hewn  stone,  in  the  main  street ;  he,  that  is  to 
say.  Colonel  Jacob,  the  Superintending  Engi- 
neer of  the  State,  devised  a  water  supply  for 
the  city  and  studded  the  ways  with  standpipes. 
He  built  gas  works,  set  afoot  a  School  of  Art, 
a  Museum — all  the  things  in  fact  which  are 
necessary  to  Western  municipal  welfare  and 
comfort,  and  saw  that  they  were  the  best  of 
their  kind.  How  much  Colonel  Jacob  has 
done,  not  only  for  the  good  of  Jeypore  city 
but  for  the  good  of  the  State  at  large,  will 
never  be  known,  because  the  officer  in  ques- 
tion is  one  of  the  not  small  class  who  reso- 
lutely refuse  to  talk  about  their  own  work. 
The  result  of  the  good  work  is  that  the  old 
and  the  new,  the  rampantly  raw  and  the  sul- 
lenly old,  stand  cheek-by-jowl  in  startling  con- 
trast. Thus,  the  branded  bull  trips  over  the 
rails  of  a  steel  tramway  which  brings  out  the 
city  rubbish  ;  the  lacquered  and  painted  cart 
behind  the  two  little  stag-like  trotting  bullocks 
catches  its  primitive  wheels  in  the  cast-iron 
gas-lamp  post  with  the  brass  nozzle  a-top, 
and  all  Rajputana,  gaily  clad,  small-turbaned 
swaggering  Rajputana,  circulates  along  the 
magnificent  pavements. 

The  fortress-crowned  hills  look  down  upon 
the  strange  medley.  One  of  them  bears  on 
its  flank  in  huge  white  letters  the  cheery  in- 
script,  "  Welcome  !  "  This  was  made  when 
the  Prince  of  Wales  visited  Jeypore  to  shoot 
his  first  tiger;  but  the  average  traveler  of  to- 
day may  appropriate  the  message  to  himself, 


Letters  of  Marque  17 

for  Jeypore  takes  great  care  of  strangers  and 
shows  them  all  courtesy.  This,  by  the  way, 
demoralizes  the  Globe-trotter,  whose  first  cry 
is,  "  Where  can  we  get  horses  ?  Where  can 
we  get  elephants  ?  Who  is  the  man  to  write 
to  for  all  these  things  ?  " 

Thanks  to  the  courtesy  of  the  Maharaja,  it 
is  possible  to  see  everything,  but  for  the  incu- 
rious who  object  to  being  driven  through  their 
sights,  a  journey  down  any  one  of  the  great 
main  streets  is  a  day's  delightful  occupation. 
The  view  is  as  unobstructed  as  that  of  the 
Champs  Elysees ;  but  in  place  of  the  white- 
stone  fronts  of  Paris,  rises  a  long  line  of  open- 
work screen-wall,  the  prevailing  tone  of  which 
is  pink,  caramel-pink,  but  house-owners  have 
unlimited  license  to  decorate  their  tenements 
as  they  please.  Jeypore,  broadly  considered, 
is  Hindu,  and  her  architecture  of  the  riotous, 
many-arched  type  which  even  the  Globe-trotter 
after  a  short  time  learns  to  call  Hindu.  It  is 
neither  temperate  nor  noble,  but  it  satisfies 
the  general  desire  for  something  that  "  really 
looks  Indian."  A  perverse  taste  for  low  com- 
pany drew  the  Englishman  from  the  pavement 
— to  walk  upon  a  real  stone  pavement  is  in 
itself  a  privilege — up  a  side-street,  where  he 
assisted  at  a  quail  fight  and  found  the  low- 
caste  Rajput  a  cheery  and  affable  soul.  The 
owner  of  the  losing  quail  was  a  trooper  in  the 
Maharaja's  army.  He  explained  that  his  pay 
was  six  rupees  a  month  paid  bi-monthly.  He 
was  cut  the  cost  of  his  khaki  blouse,  brown- 
2 


1 8  Letters  of  Marque 

leather  accoutrements,  and  jack-boots  ;  lance, 
saddle,  sword,  and  horse  were  given  free.  He 
refused  to  say  for  how  many  months  in  the 
year  he  was  drilled,  and  said  vaguely  that  his 
duties  were  mainly  escort  ones,  and  he  had  no 
fault  to  find  with  them.  The  defeat  of  his 
quail  had  vexed  him,  and  he  desired  the  Sahib 
to  understand  that  the  sowars  of  His  High- 
ness's  army  could  ride.  A  clumsy  attempt  at 
a  compliment  so  fired  his  martial  blood  that 
he  climbed  into  his  saddle,  and  then  and  there 
insisted  on  showing  off  his  horsemanship. 
The  road  was  narrow,  the  lance  was  long,  and 
the  horse  was  a  big  one,  but  no  one  objected, 
and  the  Englishman  sat  him  down  on  a  doorstep 
and  watched  the  fun.  The  horse  seemed  in 
some  shadowy  way  familiar.  His  head  v/as 
not  the  lean  head  of  the  Kathiawar,  nor  his 
crest  the  crest  of  the  Marwarri,  and  his  fore- 
legs did  not  belong  to  these  stony  districts. 
"  Where  did  he  come  from  ? "  The  sowar 
pointed  northward  and  said,  "  from  Amritsar," 
but  he  pronounced  it  "  Armtzar."  Many 
horses  had  been  bought  at  the  spring  fairs 
in  the  Punjab ;  they  cost  about  two  hun- 
dred rupees  each,  perhaps  more,  the  sowar 
could  not  say.  Some  came  from  Hissar  and 
some  from  other  places  beyond  Delhi.  They 
were  very  good  horses.  "That  horse  there," 
he  pointed  to  one  a  little  distance  down  the 
street,  "is  the  son  of  a  big  Government  horse 
— the  kind  that  the  Sirkar  make  for  breeding 
horses — so  high ! "   The  owner  of  "  that  horse  " 


Letters  of  Marque  19 

swaggered  up,  jaw  bandaged  and  cat-mous- 
tached,  and  bade  the  Englishman  look  at  his 
mount ;  bought,  of  course,  when  a  colt.  Both 
men  together  said  that  the  Sahib  had  better 
examine  the  Maharaja  Sahib's  stable,  where 
there  were  hundreds  of  horses,  huge  as  ele- 
phants or  tiny  as  sheep. 

To  the  stables  the  Englishman  accordingly 
went,  knowing  beforehand  what  he  would  find, 
and  wondering  whether  the  Sirkar's  "  big 
horses"  were  meant  to  get  mounts  for  Rajput 
sowars.  The  Maharaja's  stables  are  royal 
in  size  and  appointments.  The  enclosure 
round  which  they  stand  must  be  about  half  a 
mile  long — it  allows  ample  space  for  exercis- 
ing, besides  paddocks  for  the  colts.  The 
horses,  about  two  hundred  and  fifty,  are  bedded 
in  pure  white  sand — bad  for  the  coat  if  they  roll, 
but  good  for  the  feet — the  pickets  are  of  white 
marble,  the  heel-ropes  in  every  case  of  good 
sound  rope,  and  in  every  case  the  stables  are 
exquisitely  clean.  Each  stall  contains  above 
the  manger,  a  curious  little  bunk  for  the  syce 
who,  if  he  uses  the  accommodation,  must  as- 
suredly die  once  each  hot  weather. 

A  journey  round  the  stables  is  saddening, 
for  the  attendants  are  very  anxious  to  strip 
their  charges,  and  the  stripping  shows  so 
much.  A  few  men  in  India  are  credited  with 
the  faculty  of  never  forgetting  a  horse  they 
have  once  seen,  and  of  knowing  the  produce 
of  every  stallion  they  have  met.  The  English- 
man  would  have  given  something  for   their 


20  Letters  of  Marque 

company  at  that  hour.  His  knowledge  of 
horseflesh  was  very  limited ;  but  he  felt  cer- 
tain that  more  than  one  or  two  of  the  sleek, 
perfectly  groomed  country-breds  should  have 
been  justifying  their  existence  in  the  ranks 
of  the  British  cavalry,  instead  of  eating  their 
heads  off  on  six  seers  of  gram  and  one  of 
sugar  per  diem.  But  they  had  all  been  honestly 
bought  and  honestly  paid  for :  and  there  was 
nothing  in  the  wide  world  to  prevent  His 
Highness,  if  he  wished  to  do  so,  from  sweep- 
ing up  the  pick  and  pride  of  all  the  stud-bred 
horses  in  the  Punjab.  The  attendants  ap- 
peared to  take  a  wicked  delight  in  saying 
"eshtudbred"  very  loudly  and  with  unneces- 
sary emphasis  as  they  threw  back  the  loin- 
cloth. Sometimes  they  were  wrong,  but  in 
too  many  cases  they  were  right. 

The  Englishman  left  the  stables  and  the  great 
central  maidan,  where  a  nervous  Biluchi  was 
being  taught,  by  a  perfect  network  of  ropes, 
to  "monkey-jump,"  and  went  out  into  the 
streets  reflecting  on  the  working  of  horse 
breeding  operations  under  the  Government 
of  India,  and  the  advantages  of  having  un- 
limited money  wherewith  to  profit  by  other 
people's  mistakes. 

Then,  as  happened  to  the  great  Tartarin 
of  Tarescon,  wild  beasts  began  to  roar,  and 
a  crowd  of  little  boys  laughed.  The  lions  of 
Jeypore  are  tigers,  caged  in  a  public  place  for 
the  sport  of  the  people,  who  hiss  at  them  and 
disturb  their  royal  feelings.     Two  or  three  of 


Letters  of  Marque  21 

the  six  great  brutes  are  magnificent.  All  of 
them  are  short-tempered,  and  the  bars  of 
their  captivity  not  too  strong.  A  pariah-dog 
was  furtively  trying  to  scratch  out  a  fragment 
of  meat  from  between  the  bars  of  one  of  the 
cages,  and  the  occupant  tolerated  him.  Grow- 
ing bolder,  the  starveling  growled ;  the  tiger 
struck  at  him  with  his  paw,  and  the  dog  fled 
howling  with  fear.  When  he  returned,  he 
brought  two  friends  with  him,  and  the  three 
mocked  the  captive  from  a  distance. 

It  was  not  a  pleasant  sight  and  suggested 
Globe-trotters — gentlemen  who  imagine  that 
"  more  curricles  "  should  come  at  their  bidding, 
and  on  being  undeceived  become  abusive. 


22  Letters  of  Marque 


III. 


And  what  shall  be  said  of  Amber,  Queen 
of  the  Pass — the  city  that  Jey  Singh  bade  his 
people  slough  as  snakes  cast  their  skins  ? 
The  Globe-trotter  will  assure  you  that  it  must 
be  "  done "  before  anything  else,  and  the 
Globe-trotter  is,  for  once,  perfectly  correct. 
Amber  lies  between  six  and  seven  miles  from 
Jeypore  among  the  tumbled  fragments  of  the 
hills,  and  is  reachable  by  so  prosaic  a  con- 
veyance as  a  ticca-ghari,  and  so  uncomfortable 
a  one  as  an  elephant.  He  is  provided  by  the 
Maharaja,  and  the  people  who  make  India 
their  prey,  are  apt  to  accept  his  services  as  a 
matter  of  course. 

Rise  very  early  in  the  morning,  before  the 
stars  have  gone  out,  and  drive  through  the 
sleeping  city  till  the  pavement  gives  place  to 
cactus  and  sand,  and  educational  and  en- 
lightened institutions  to  mile  upon  mile  of 
semi-decayed  Hindu  temples — brown  and 
weather-beaten — running  down  to  the  shores 
of  the  great  Man  Sagar  Lake,  wherein  are 
more  ruined  temples,  palaces,  and  fragments 
of  causeways.  The  water-birds  have  their 
home  in  the  half-submerged  arcades  and  the 
crocodile  nuzzles  the  shafts  of  the  pillars. 
It  is  a  fitting  prelude  to  the  desolation  of 
Amber.     Beyond  the  Man  Sagar  the   road  of 


Letters  of  Marque  23 

to-day  climbs  up-hill,  and  by  its  side  runs  the 
huge  stone*  causeway  of  yesterday — blocks 
sunk  in  concrete.  Down  this  path  the  swords 
of  Amber  went  out  to  kill.  A  triple  wall  rings 
the  city,  and,  at  the  third  gate,  the  road  drops 
into  the  valley  of  Amber.  In  the  half  light  of 
dawn,  a  great  city  sunk  between  hills  and  built 
round  three  sides  of  a  lake  is  dimly  visible, 
and  one  waits  to  catch  the  hum  that  should 
arise  from  it  as  the  day  breaks.  The  air  in 
the  valley  is  bitterly  chill.  With  the  growing 
light,  Amber  stands  revealed,  and  the  traveler 
sees  that  it  is  a  city  that  will  never  wake.  A 
few  7neenas  live  in  huts  at  the  end  of  the 
valley,  but  the  temples,  the  shrines,  the  pal- 
aces, and  the  tiers-on-tiers  of  houses  are  deso- 
late. Trees  grow  in  and  split  upon  the  walls, 
the  windows  are  filled  with  brushwood,  and 
the  cactus  chokes  the  street.  The  English- 
man made  his  way  up  the  side  of  the  hill  to 
the  great  palace  that  overlooks  everything 
except  the  red  fort  of  Jeighur,  guardian  of 
Amber.  As  the  elephant  swung  up  the  steep 
roads  paved  with  stone  and  built  out  on  the 
sides  of  the  hill,  the  Englishman  looked  into 
empty  houses  where  the  little  gray  squirrel  sat 
and  scratched  its  ears.  The  peacock  walked 
on  the  house-tops,  and  the  blue  pigeon  roosted 
within.  He  passed  under  iron-studded  gates 
whose  hinges  were  eaten  out  with  rust,  and  by 
walls  plumed  and  crowned  with  grass,  and 
under  more  gateways,  till,  at  last,  he  reached 
the  palace  and    came    suddenly  into  a  great 


24  Letters  of  Marque 

quadrangle  where  two  blinded,  arrogant  stal- 
lions, covered  with  red  and  gold  trappings, 
screamed  and  neighed  at  each  other  from 
opposite  ends  of  the  vast  space.  For  a  little 
time  these  were  the  only  visible  living  beings, 
and  they  were  in  perfect  accord  with  the  spirit 
of  the  spot.  Afterwards  certain  workmen  ap- 
peared, for  it  seems  that  the  Maharaja  keeps 
the  old  palace  of  his  forefathers  in  good  repair, 
but  they  were  modern  and  mercenary,  and 
with  great  difficulty  were  detached  from  the 
skirts  of  the  traveler.  A  somewhat  extensive 
experience  of  palace-seeing  had  taught  him 
that  it  is  best  to  see  palaces  alone,  for  the 
Oriental  as  a  guide  is  undiscriminating  and 
sets  too  great  a  store  on  corrugated  iron  roofs 
and  glazed  drain-pipes. 

So  the  Englishman  went  into  this  palace 
built  of  stone,  bedded  on  stone,  springing  out 
of  scarped  rock,  and  reached  by  stone  ways — 
nothing  but  stone.  Presently,  he  stumbled 
across  a  little  temple  of  Kali,  a  gem  of  marble 
tracery  and  inlay,  very  dark  and,  at  that  hour 
of  the  morning,  very  cold. 

If,  as  Viollet-le-Duc  tells  us  to  believe,  a 
building  reflects  the  character  of  its  inhabit- 
ants, it  must  be  impossible  for  one  reared  in 
an  Eastern  palace  to  think  straightly  or  speak 
freely  or — but  here  the  annals  of  Rajputana 
contradict  the  theory — to  act  openly.  The 
crampt  and  darkened  rooms,  the  narrow 
smooth-walled  passages  with  recesses  where 
a  man  might  wait  for  his  enemy  unseen,  the 


Letters  of  Marque  25 

maze  of  ascending  and  descending  stairs  lead- 
ing nowhitlier,  the  ever-present  screens  of 
marble  tracery  that  may  hide  or  reveal  so  much, 
— all  these  things  breathe  of  plot  and  counter- 
plot, league  and  intrigue.  In  a  living  palace 
where  the  sightseer  knows  and  feels  that  there 
are  human  beings  everywhere,  and  that  he  is 
followed  by  scores  of  unseen  eyes,  the  impres- 
sion is  almost  unendurable.  In  a  dead  palace 
— a  cemetery  of  loves  and  hatreds  done  with 
hundreds  of  years  ago,  and  of  plottings  that 
had  for  their  end,  though  the  graybeards  who 
plotted  knew  it  not,  the  coming  of  the  British 
tourist  with  guide-book  and  sun-hat — oppres- 
sion gives  place  to  simply  impertinent  curiosity. 
The  Englishman  wandered  into  all  parts  of  the 
palace,  for  there  was  no  one  to  stop  him — 
not  even  the  ghosts  of  the  dead  Queens — 
through  ivory-studded  doors,  into  the  women's 
quarters,  where  a  stream  of  water  once  flowed 
over  a  chiseled  marble  channel.  A  creeper 
had  set  its  hands  upon  the  lattice  there,  and 
there  was  the  dust  of  old  nests  in  one  of  the 
niches  in  the  wall.  Did  the  lady  of  light  virtue 
who  managed  to  become  possessed  of  so  great 
a  portion  of  Jey  Singh's  library  ever  set  her 
dainty  feet  in  the  trim  garden  of  the  Hall  of 
Pleasure  beyond  the  screen-work  ?  Was  it  in 
the  forty-pillared  Hall  of  Audience  that  the 
order  went  forth  that  the  Chief  of  Birjooghar 
was  to  be  slain,  and  from  what  wall  did  the 
King  look  out  when  the  horsemen  clattered 
up  the  steep  stone  path  to  the  palace,  bearing 


26  Letters  of  Marque 

on  their  saddle-bows  the  heads  of  the  bravest 
of  Rajore  ?  There  were  questions  innumer- 
able to  be  asked  in  each  court  and  keep  and 
cell ;  but  the  only  answer  was  the  cooing  of 
the  pigeons. 

If  a  man  desired  beauty,  there  was  enough 
and  to  spare  in  the  palace ;  and  of  strength 
more  than  enough.  With  inlay  and  carved 
marble,  with  glass  and  color,  the  Kings  who 
took  their  pleasure  in  that  now  desolate  pile, 
made  all  that  their  eyes  rested  upon  royal  and 
superb.  But  any  description  of  the  artistic 
side  of  the  palace,  if  it  were  not  impossible, 
would  be  wearisome.  The  wise  man  will  visit 
it  when  time  and  occasion  serve,  and  will  then, 
in  some  small  measure,  understand  what  must 
have  been  the  riotous,  sumptuous,  murderous 
life  to  which  our  Governors  and  Lieutenant- 
Governors,  Commissioners  and  Deputy  Com- 
missioners, Colonels  and  Captains  and  the 
Subalterns,  have  put  an  end. 

From  the  top  of  the  palace  you  may  read  if 
you  please  the  Book  of  Ezekiel  written  in  stone 
upon  the  hillside.  Coming  up,  the  English- 
man had  seen  the  city  from  below  or  on  a 
level.  He  now  looked  into  its  very  heart— 
the  heart  that  had  ceased  to  beat.  There  was 
no  sound  of  men  or  cattle,  or  grindstones  in 
those  pitiful  streets — nothing  but  the  cooing 
of  the  pigeons.  At  first  it  seemed  that  the 
palace  was  not  ruined  at  all — that  soon  the 
women  would  come  up  on  the  house-tops  and 
the  bells  would   ring  in  the  temples.     But  as 


Letters  of  Marque  27 

he  attempted  to  follow  with  his  eye  the  turns 
of  the  streets,  the  Englishman  saw  that  they 
died  out  in  wood  tangle  and  blocks  of  fallen 
stone,  and  that  some  of  the  houses  were  rent 
with  great  cracks,  and  pierced  from  roof  to 
road  with  holes  that  let  in  the  morning  sun. 
The  drip-stones  of  the  eaves  were  gap-toothed, 
and  the  tracery  of  the  screens  had  fallen  out 
so  that  zenana-rooms  lay  shamelessly  open  to 
the  day.  On  the  outskirts  of  the  city,  the 
strong-walled  houses  dwindled  and  sank  down 
to  mere  stone-heaps  and  faint  indications  of 
plinth  and  wall,  hard  to  trace  gainst  the 
background  of  stony  soil.  The  shadow  of  the 
palace  lay  over  two-thirds  of  the  city  and  the 
trees  deepened  the  shadow.  "  He  who  has 
bent  him  o'er  the  dead"  after  the  hour  of 
which  Byron  sings,  knows  that  the  features  of 
the  man  become  blunted  as  it  were — the  face 
begins  to  fade.  The  same  hideous  look  lies 
on  the  face  of  the  Queen  of  the  Pass,  and  when 
once  this  is  realized,  the  eye  wonders  that  it 
could  have  ever  believed  in  the  life  of  her. 
She  is  the  city  "  whose  graves  are  set  in  the 
side  of  the  pit,  and  her  company  is  round  about 
her  graves,"  sister  of  Pathros,  Zoan,  and  No. 
Moved  by  a  thoroughly  insular  instinct,  the 
Englishman  took  up  a  piece  of  plaster  and 
heaved  it  from  the  palace  wall  into  the  dark 
streets.  It  bounded  from  a  house-top  to  a 
window-ledge,  and  thence  into  a  little  square, 
and  the  sound  of  its  fall  was  hollow  and  echo- 
ing  as  the  sound  of  a  stone  in  a  well.     Then 


28  Letters  of  Marque 

the  silence  closed  up  upon  the  sound,  till  in  the 
far-away  courtyard  below  the  roped  stallions 
began  screaming  afresh.  There  maybe  deso- 
lation in  the  great  Indian  Desert  to  the  west- 
ward, and  there  is  desolation  on  the  open  seas  ; 
but  the  desolation  of  Amber  is  beyond  the 
loneliness  either  of  land  or  sea.  Men  by  the 
hundred  thousand  must  have  toiled  at  the 
walls  that  bound  it,  the  temples  and  bastions 
that  stud  the  walls,  the  fort  that  overlooks  all, 
the  canals  that  once  lifted  water  to  the  palace, 
and  the  garden  in  the  lake  of  the  valley.  Re- 
nan  could  describe  it  as  it  stands  to-day,  and 
Vereschaguin  could  paint  it. 

Arrived  at  this  satisfactory  conclusion,  the 
Englishman  went  down  through  the  palace  and 
the  scores  of  venomous  and  suggestive  little 
rooms,  to  the  elephant  in  the  courtyard,  and 
was  taken  back  in  due  time  to  the  Nineteenth 
Century  in  the  shape  of  His  Highness,  the 
Maharaja's  Cotton-Press,  returning  a  profit  of 
twenty-seven  per  cent,  and  fitted  with  two  en- 
gines, of  fifty  horse-power  each,  an  hydraulic 
press,  capable  of  exerting  a  pressure  of  three 
tons  per  square  inch,  and  everything  else  to 
correspond.  It  stood  under  a  neat  corrugated 
iron  roof  close  to  the  Jeypore  Railway  Station, 
and  was  in  most  perfect  order,  but  somehow  it 
did  not  taste  well  after  Amber.  There  was 
aggressiveness  about  the  engines  and  the  smell 
of  the  raw  cotton. 

The  modern  side  of  Jeypore  must  not  be 
mixed  with  the  ancient. 


Letters  of  Marque  29 


IV. 


From  the  Cotton-Press  the  Englishman 
wandered  through  the  wide  streets  till  he  came 
into  a  Hindu  temple — rich  in  marble  stone 
and  inlay,  and  a  deep  and  tranquil  silence, 
close  to  the  Public  Library  of  the  State.  The 
brazen  bull  was  hung  with  flowers,  and  men 
were  burning  the  evening  incense  before 
Mahadeo  ;  while  those  who  had  prayed  their 
prayer  beat  upon  the  bells  hanging  from  the 
roof  and  passed  out,  secure  in  the  knowledge 
that  the  god  had  heard  them.  If  there  be 
much  religion,  there  is  little  reverence,  as 
Westerns  understand  the  term,  at  the  services 
of  the  gods  of  the  East.  A  tiny  little  maiden, 
child  of  a  monstrously  ugly,  wall-eyed  priest, 
staggered  across  the  marble  pavement  to  the 
shrine  and  threw,  with  a  gust  of  childish 
laughter,  the  blossoms  she  was  carrying  into  the 
lap  of  the  great  Mahadeo  himself.  Then  she 
made  as  though  she  would  leap  up  to  the  bell 
and  ran  away,  still  laughing,  into  the  shadow 
of  the  cells  behind  the  shrine,  while  her  father 
explained  that  she  was  but  a  baby  and  that 
Mahadeo  would  take  no  notice.  The  temple, 
he  said,  was  specially  favored  by  the  Maha- 
raja, and  drew  from  lands  an  income  of  twenty 
thousand  rupees  a  year.  Thakoors  and  great 
men  also  gave  gifts  out  of  their  benevolence  ; 


30  Letters  of  Marque 

and  there  was  nothing  in  the  wide  world  to 
prevent  an  EngHshman  from  following  their 
example. 

By  this  time — for  Amber  and  the  Cotton- 
Press  had  filled  the  hours — night  was  falling, 
and  the  priests  unhooked  the  swinging  jets 
and  began  to  light  up  the  impassive  face  of 
Mahadeo  with  gas !  They  used  Swedish 
matches. 

Full  night  brought  the  hotel  and  its  curiously 
composed  human  menagerie. 

There  is,  if  a  work-a-day  world  will  believe, 
a  society  entirely  outside,  and  unconnected 
with,  that  of  the  Station — a  planet  within  a 
planet,  where  nobody  knows  anything  about 
the  Collector's  Vv^ife,  the  Colonel's  dinner- 
party, or  what  was  really  the  matter  with  the 
Engineer.  It  is  a  curious,  an  insatiably 
curious,  thing,  and  its  literature  is  Newman's 
Bradshaw.  Wandering  "  old  arm-sellers " 
and  others  live  upon,  it  and  so  do  the  garnet- 
men  and  the  makers  of  ancient  Rajput  shields. 
The  world  of  the  innocents  abroad  is  a  touch- 
ing and  unsophisticated  place,  and  its  very  at- 
mosphere urges  theAnglo-Indian  unconsciously 
to  an  extravagant  mendacity.  Can  you  won- 
der, then,  that  a  guide  ofilong-standing  should 
in  time  grow  to  be  an  accomplished  liar  "i 

Into  this  world  sometimes  breaks  the  Anglo- 
Indian  returned  from  leave,  or  a  fugitive  to 
the  sea,  and  his  presence  is  like  that  of  a  v^^ell- 
known  landmark  in  the  desert.  Tlie  old  arms- 
seller  knows  and  avoids  him,  and  he  is  detested 


Letters  of  Marque  31 

by  the  jobber  of  gharis  who  calls  every  one 
"  my  lord "  in  English,  and  panders  to  the 
"  glaring  race  anomaly  "  by  saying  that  every 
carriage  not  under  his  control  is  "  rotten,  my 
lord,  having  been  used  by  natives."  One  of 
the  privileges  of  playing  at  tourist  is  the 
brevet-rank  of  "  Lord."  Hazur  is  not  to  be 
compared  with  it. 

There  are  many,  and  some  very  curious, 
methods  of  seeing  India.  One  of  these  is 
buying  English  translations  of  the  more  Zola- 
istic  of  Zola's  novels  and  reading  them  from 
breakfast  to  dinner-time  in  the  veranda. 
Yet  another,  even  simpler,  is  American  in  its 
conception.  Take  a  Newman's  Bradsliaiv  and 
a  blue  pencil,  and  race  up  and  down  the 
length  of  the  Empire,  ticking  off  the  names  of 
the  stations  "  done."  To  do  this  thoroughly, 
keep  strictly  to  the  railway  buildings  and  form 
your  conclusions  through  the  carriage-win- 
dows. These  eyes  have  seen  both  ways  of 
working  in  full  blast ;  and,  on  the  whole,  the 
first  is  the  most  commendable. 

Let  us  consider  now  with  due  reverence  the 
modern  side  of  Jeypore.  It  is  difficult  to 
write  of  a  nickel-plated  civilization  set  down 
under  the  immemorial  Aravalis  in  the  first 
state  of  Rajputana.  The  red-gray  hills  seem 
to  laugh  at  it,  and  the  ever-shifting  sand- 
dunes  under  the  hills  take  no  account  of  it, 
for  they  advance  upon  the  bases  of  the  mono- 
grammed,  coronet-crowned  lamp-posts,  and 
fill  up  the  points  of  the  natty  tramways  near 


32  Letters  of  Marque 

the  Waterworks,  which  are  the  outposts  of 
the  civilization  of  Jeypore. 

Escape  from  the  city  by  the  Railway  Station 
till  you  meet  the  cactus  and  the  mud-bank  and 
the  Maharaja's  Cotton-Press.  Pass  between 
a  tramway  and  a  trough  for  wayfaring  camels 
till  your  foot  sinks  ankle-deep  in  soft  sand, 
and  you  come  upon  what  seems  to  be  the 
fringe  of  illimitable  desert — mound  upon 
mound  of  tussocks  overgrown  with  plumed 
grass  where  the  parrots  sit  and  swing.  Here, 
if  you  have  kept  to  the  road,  you  shall  find  a 
dam  faced  with  stone,  a  great  tank,  and 
pumping  machinery  fine  as  the  heart  of  a 
municipal  engineer  can  desire — pure  water, 
sound  pipes,  and  well-kept  engines.  If  you 
belong  to  what  is  sarcastically  styled  an 
"able  and  intelligent  municipality"  under 
the  British  Rule,  go  down  to  the  level  of  the 
tank,  scoop  up  the  water  in  your  hands  and 
drink,  thinking  meanwhile  of  the  defects  of 
the  town  whence  you  came.  The  experience 
will  be  a  profitable  one.  There  are  statistics 
in  connection  with  the  Waterworks  figures 
relating  to  "three-throw-plungers,"  delivery 
and  supply,  which  should  be  known  to  the 
professional  reader.  They  would  not  interest 
the  unprofessional  who  would  learn  his  lesson 
among  the  thronged  standpipes  of  the  city. 

While  the  Englishman  was  preparing  in  his 
mind  a  scathing  rebuke  for  an  erring  munici- 
pality that  he  knew  of,  a  camel  swung  across 
the  sands,  its    driver's  jaw   and  brow  bound 


Letters  of  Marque  33 

mummy-fashion  to  guard  against  the  dust. 
The  man  was  evidently  a  stranger  to  the 
place,  for  he  pulled  up  and  asked  the  Eng- 
lishman where  the  drinking-troughs  were.  He 
was  a  gentleman  and  bore  very  patiently  with 
the  Englishman's  absurd  ignorance  of  his  dia- 
lect. He  had  come  from  some  village,  with 
an  unpronounceable  name,  thirty  kos  away  to 
see  his  brother's  son,  who  was  sick  in  the 
big  Hospital.  While  the  camel  was  drinking 
the  man  talked,  lying  back  along  his  mount. 
He  knew  nothing  of  Jeypore,  except  the 
names  of  certain  Englishmen  in  it,  the  men 
who,  he  said,  had  made  the  Waterworks  and 
built  the  Hospital  for  his  brother's  son's  com- 
fort. 

And  this  is  the  curious  feature  of  Jeypore  ; 
though  happily  the  city  is  not  unique  in  its 
peculiarity.  When  the  late  Maharaja  as- 
cended the  throne,  more  than  fifty  years  ago, 
it  was  his  royal  will  and  pleasure  that  Jey- 
pore should  advance.  Whether  he  was 
prompted  by  love  for  his  subjects,  desire  for 
praise,  or  the  magnificent  vanity  with  which 
Jey  Singh  must  have  been  so  largely  dowered, 
are  questions  that  concern  nobody.  In  the 
latter  years  of  his  reign,  he  was  supplied  with 
Englishmen  who  made  the  State  their  father- 
land, and  identified  themselves  with  its  prog- 
ress as  only  Englishman  can.  Behind  them 
stood  the  Maharaja  ready  to  spend  money 
with  a  lavishness  that  no  Supreme  Govern- 
ment would  dream  of  ;  and  it  would  not  be 
3 


34  Letters  of  Marque 

too  much  to  say  that  the  two  made  the  State 
what  it  is.  When  Ram  Singh  died,  Madho 
Singh,  his  successor,  a  conservative  Hindu, 
forbore  to  interfere  in  any  way  with  the  work 
that  was  going  forward.  It  is  said  in  the  city 
that  he  does  not  overburden  himself  with  the 
cares  of  State,  the  driving  power  being 
mainly  in  the  hands  of  a  Bengali,  who  has 
everything  but  the  name  of  Minister.  Nor 
do  the  Englishmen,  it  is  said  in  the  city,  mix 
themselves  with  the  business  of  government  ; 
their  business  being  wholly  executive. 

They  can,  according  to  the  voice  of  the  city, 
do  what  they  please,  and  the  voice  of  the  city 
— not  in  the  main  roads,  but  in  the  little  side- 
alleys  where  the  stall-less  bull  blocks  the 
path — attests  how  well  their  pleasure  has 
suited  the  pleasure  of  the  people.  In  truth,  to 
men  of  action  few  things  could  be  more  de- 
lightful than  having  a  State  of  fifteen  thou- 
sand square  miles  placed  at  their  disposal,  as 
it  were,  to  leave  their  mark  on.  Unfortunately 
for  the  vagrant  traveler,  those  who  work  hard 
for  practical  ends  prefer  not  to  talk  about  their 
doings,  and  he  must,  therefore,  pick  up  what 
information  he  can  at  second-hand  or  in  the 
city.  The  men  at  the  standpipes  explain  that 
the  Maharaja  Sahib's  father  gave  the  order 
for  the  Waterworks  and  that  Yakub  (Jacob) 
Sahib  made  them — not  only  in  the  city,  but 
out  away  in  the  district.  "  Did  the  people 
grow  more  crops  thereby?"  "  Of  course 
they  did.     Were  canals  made  only  to  wash 


Letters  of  Marque  35 

in?"  "How  much  more  crops?"  ^'Who 
knows  ?  The  Sahib  had  better  go  and  ask 
some  official."  Increased  irrigation  means 
increase  of  revenue  for  the  State  somewhere, 
but  tlie  man  wlio  brought  about  the  increase 
does  not  say  so. 

After  a  few  days  of  amateur  Globe-trotting, 
a  shamelessness  great  as  that  of  the  other 
loafer — the  red-nosed  man  who  hangs  about 
compounds  and  is  always  on  the  eve  of  start- 
ing for  Calcutta — possesses  the  masquerader  ; 
so  that  he  feels  equal  to  asking  a  Resident  for 
a  parcel-gilt  howdah,  or  dropping  into  dinner 
with  a  Lieutenant-Governor.  No  man  has  a 
right  to  keep  anything  back  from  a  Globe- 
trotter, who  is  a  mild,  temperate,  gentlemanly, 
and  unobtrusive  seeker  after  truth.  There- 
fore he  who,  without  a  word  of  enlightenment 
sends  the  visitor  into  a  city  which  he  himself 
has  beautified  and  adorned  and  made  clean 
and  wholesome,  deserves  unsparing  exposure. 
And  the  city  may  be  trusted  to  betray  him. 
The  maUi  in  the  Ram  Newas  Gardens — 
Gardens  which  are  finer  than  any  in  India  and 
fit  to  rank  with  the  best  in  Paris — says  that 
the  Maharaja  gave  the  order  and  Yakub 
Sahib  made  the  Gardens.  He  also  says  that 
the  Hospital  just  outside  the  Gardens  was 
built  by  Yakub  Sahib,  and  if  the  Sahib  will 
go  to  the  center  of  the  Gardens,  he  will  find 
another  big  building,  a  Museum  by  the  same 
hand. 

But  the  Englishman  went  first  to  the  Hos- 


36  Letters  of  Marque 

pital,  and  found  the  out-patients  beginning  to 
arrive.  A  Hospital  cannot  tell  lies  about  its 
own  progress  as  a  municipality  can.  Sick  folk 
either  come  or  lie  in  their  own  villages.  In 
the  case  of  the  Mayo  Hospital,  they  came,  and 
the  operation  book  showed  that  they  had  been 
in  the  habit  of  coming.  Doctors  at  issue  with 
provincial  and  local  administrations,  Civil 
Surgeons  who  cannot  get  their  indents  com- 
plied with,  ground-down  and  mutinous  practi- 
tioners all  India  over,  would  do  well  to  visit 
the  Mayo  Hospital,  Jeypore.  They  might,  in 
the  exceeding  bitterness  of  their  envy,  be  able 
to  point  out  some  defects  in  its  supplies,  or 
its  beds,  or  its  splints,  or  in  the  absolute  inso- 
lation of  the  women's  quarters  from  the  men's. 
From  the  Hospital  the  Englishman  went  to 
the  Museum  in  the  center  of  the  Gardens,  and 
was  eaten  up  by  it,  for  Museums  appealed  to 
him.  The  casing  of  the  jewel  was  in  the  first 
place  superb — a  wonder  of  carven  white  stone 
of  the  Indo-Saracenic  style.  It  stood  on  a 
stone  plinth,  and  was  rich  in  stone-tracery, 
green  marble  columns  from  Ajmir,  red  marble, 
white  marble  colonnades,  courts  with  foun- 
tains, richly  carved  wooden  doors,  frescoes, 
inlay,  and  color.  The  ornamentation  of  the 
tombs  of  Delhi,  the  palaces  of  Agra,  and  the 
walls  of  Amber  have  been  laid  under  contri- 
bution to  supply  the  designs  in  bracket,  arch, 
and  soffit ;  and  stone-masons  from  the  Jeypore 
School  of  Art  have  woven  into  the  work  tlie 
best  that  their  hands  could  produce.     The 


Letters  of  Marque  37 

building  in  essence  if  not  in  the  fact  of  to-day, 
is  the  work  of  Freemasons.  The  men  were 
allowed  a  certain  scope  in  their  choice  of  de- 
tail and  the  result  .  .  .  but  it  should  be  seen 
to  be  understood,  as  it  stands  in  those  Impe- 
rial Gardens.  And,  observe,  the  man  who  had 
designed  it,  who  had  superintended  its  erec- 
tion, had  said  no  word  to  indicate  that  there 
were  such  a  thing  in  the  place,  or  that  every 
foot  of  it,  from  the  domes  of  the  roof  to  the 
cool  green  chunam  dadoes  and  the  carving  of 
the  rims  of  the  fountains  in  the  courtyard, 
was  worth  studying  !  Round  the  arches  of  the 
great  center  court  are  written  in  Sanskrit  and 
Hindi,  texts  from  the  great  Hindu  writers  of 
old,  bearing  on  the  beauty  of  wisdom  and  the 
sanctity  of  true  knowledge. 

In  the  central  corridor  are  six  great  frescoes, 
each  about  nine  feet  by  five,  copies  of  illustra- 
tions in  the  Royal  Folio  of  the  Razmnameh, 
the  Mahabharata,  which  Abkar  caused  to  be 
done  by  the  best  artists  of  his  day.  The  orig- 
inal is  in  the  Museum,  and  he  who  can  steal 
it  will  find  a  purchaser  at  any  price  up  to  fifty 
thousand  pounds. 


38  Letters  of  Marque 


Internally,  there  is,  in  all  honesty,  no 
limit  to  the  luxury  of  the  Jeypore  Museum. 
It  revels  in  "  South  Kensington  "  cases — of 
the  approved  pattern — that  turn  the  beholder 
homesick,  and  South  Kensington  labels, 
whereon  the  description,  measurements,  and 
price  of  each  object  are  fairly  printed.  These 
make  savage  one  who  knows  how  labelling  is 
bungled  in  some  of  the  Government  Museums 
— our  starved  barns  that  are  supposed  to  hold 
the  economic  exhibits,  not  of  little  States,  but 
of  great  Provinces. 

The  floors  are  of  dark  red  chunam,  overlaid 
with  a  discreet  and  silent  matting  ;  the  doors, 
where  they  are  not  plate  glass,  are  of  carved 
wood,  no  two  alike,  hinged  by  sumptuous 
brass  hinges  on  to  marble  jambs  and  opening 
without  noise.  On  the  carved  marble  pillars 
of  each  hall  are  fixed  revolving  cases  of  the 
S.  K.  M.  pattern  to  show  textile  fabrics,  gold 
lace,  and  the  like.  In  the  recesses  of  the 
walls  are  more  cases,  and  on  the  railing  of  the 
gallery  that  runs  round  each  of  the  three  great 
central  rooms,  are  fixed  low  cases  to  hold 
natural  history  specimens  and  models  of  fruits 
and  vegetables. 

Hear  this,  Governments  of  India  from  the 
Punjab  to  Madras  !     The  doors  come  true  to 


Letters  of  Marque  39 

the  jamb,  and  cases,  which  have  been  through 
a  hot  weather,  are  neither  warped  nor  cracked, 
nor  are  there  unseemly  tallow-drops  and  flaws 
in  the  glasses.  The  maroon  cloth,  on  or 
against  which  the  exhibits  are  placed,  is  of 
close  texture,  untouched  by  the  moth,  neither 
stained  nor  meager  nor  sunfaded ;  the  revolv- 
ing cases  revolve  freely  without  rattling ; 
there  is  not  a  speck  of  dust  from  one  end  of 
the  building  to  the  other,  because  the  menial 
staff  are  numerous  enough  to  keep  everything 
clean,  and  the  Curator's  office  is  a  veritable 
office — not  a  shed  or  a  bath-room,  or  a  loose- 
box  partitioned  from  the  main  building.  These 
things  are  so  because  money  has  been  spent 
on  the  Museum,  and  it  is  now  a  rebuke  to  all 
other  Museums  in  India  from  Calcutta  down- 
w^ards.  Whether  it  is  not  too  good  to  be 
buried  away  in  a  native  State  is  a  question 
which  envious  men  may  raise  and  answer  as 
they  choose.  Not  long  ago,  the  editor  of  a 
Bombay  paper  passed  through  it,  but  having 
the  interests  of  the  Egocentric  Presidency 
before  his  eyes,  dwelt  more  upon  the  idea  of 
the  building  than  its  structural  beauties  ;  say- 
ing that  Bombay,  who  professed  a  weakness 
for  technical  education,  should  be  ashamed  of 
herself.      And  he  was  quite  right. 

The  system  of  the  Museum  is  complete  in 
intention,  as  are  its  appointments  in  design. 
At  present  there  are  some  fifteen  thousand 
objects  of  art,  covering  a  complete  exposition 
of  the  arts,  from  enamels  to  pottery  and  from 


40  Letters  of  Marque 

brass-ware  to  stone-carving,  of  the  State  of 
Jeypore.  They  are  compared  with  similar 
arts  of  other  lands.  Thus  a  Damio's  sword — 
a  gem  of  lacquer-plated  silk  and  stud-work — 
flanks  the  tuliva?'s  of  Marwar  and  the  jezails 
of  Tonk ;  and  reproductions  of  Persian  and 
Russian  brass-work  stand  side  by  side  with 
the  handicrafts  of  the  pupils  of  the  Jeypore 
School  of  Art.  A  photograph  of  His  High- 
ness the  present  Maharaja  is  set  among  the 
arms,  which  are  the  most  prominent  features 
of  the  first  or  metal-room.  As  the  villagers 
enter,  they  salaam  reverently  to  the  photo, 
and  then  move  on  slowly,  with  an  evidently 
intelligent  interest  in  what  they  see.  Ruskin 
could  describe  the  scene  admirably — pointing 
out  how  reverence  must  precede  the  study  of 
art,  and  how  it  is  good  for  Englishmen  and 
Rajputs  alike  to  bow  on  occasion  before 
Geisler's  cap.  They  thumb  the  revolving 
cases  of  cloths  do  those  rustics,  and  artlessly 
try  to  feel  the  texture  through  the  protecting 
glass.  The  main  object  of  the  Museum  is 
avowedly,  provincial — to  show  the  craftsman 
of  Jeypore  the  best  that  his  predecessors 
could  do,  and  what  foreign  artists  have  done. 
In  time — but  the  Curator  of  the  Museum  has 
many  schemes  which  will  assuredly  bear  fruit 
in  time,  and  it  would  be  unfair  to  divulge 
them.  Let  those  who  doubt  the  thoroughness 
of  a  Museum  under  one  man's  control,  built, 
filled  and  endowed  with  royal  generosity — an 
institution  perfectly  independent  of  the  Gov- 


Letters  of  Marque  41 

ernment  of  India — go  and  exhaustively  visit 
Dr.  Hendley's  charge  at  Jeypore.  Like  the 
man  who  made  the  building,  he  refuses  to 
talk,  and  so  the  greater  part  of  the  work  that 
he  has  in  hand  must  be  guessed  at. 

At  one  point,  indeed,  the  Curator  was 
taken  off  his  guard.  A  huge  map  of  the 
kingdom  showed  in  green  the  portions  that 
had  been  brought  under  irrigation,  while  blue 
circles  marked  the  towns  that  owned  dispen- 
saries. "  I  want  to  bring  every  man  in  the 
State  within  twenty  miles  of  a  dispensary — 
and  I've  nearly  done  it,"  said  he.  Then  he 
checked  himself,  and  went  off  to  food-grains 
in  little  bottles  as  being  neutral  and  color- 
less things.  Envy  is  forced  to  admit  that  the 
arrangement  of  the  Museum — far  too  impor- 
tant a  matter  to  be  explained  off-hand — is  Con- 
tinental in  its  character,  and  has  a  definite 
end  and  bearing — a  trifle  omitted  by  many 
institutions  other  than  Museums.  But — in 
fine,  what  can  one  say  of  a  collection  whose 
very  labels  are  gilt-edged  !  Shameful  extrav- 
agance ?  Nothing  of  the  kind — only  finish, 
perfectly  in  keeping  with  the  rest  of  the  fit- 
tings— a  finish  that  we  in  kutcha  India  have 
failed  to  catch. 

From  the  Museum  go  out  through  the  city 
to  the  Maharaja's  Palace — skilfully  avoiding 
the  man  who  would  show  you  the  Maharaja's 
European  billiard-room, — and  wander  through 
a  wilderness  of  sunlit,  sleepy  courts,  gay  with 
paint   and  frescoes,   till  you  reach  an   inner 


42  Letters  of  Marque 

square,  where  smiling  gray-bearded  men 
squat  at  ease  and  play  chaupur — just  such  a 
game  as  cost  the  Pandavs  the  fair  Draupadi — 
with  inlaid  dice  and  gaily  lacquered  pieces. 
These  ancients  are  very  polite  and  will  press 
you  to  play,  but  give  no  heed  to  them,  for 
chaiipur  is  an  expensive  game — expensive  as 
quail-fighting,  when  you  have  backed  the 
wrong  bird  and  the  people  are  laughing  at 
your  inexperience.  The  Maharaja's  Palace 
is  gay,  overwhelmingly  rich  in  candelabra, 
painted  ceilings,  gilt  mirrors,  and  other  evi- 
dences of  a  too  hastily  assimilated  civilization  ; 
but,  if  the  evidence  of  the  ear  can  be  trusted, 
the  old,  old  game  of  intrigue  goes  on  as  mer- 
rily as  of  yore.  A  figure  in  saffron  came  out 
of  a  dark  arch  into  the  sunlight,  almost  fall- 
ing into  the  arms  of  one  in  pink.  "Where 
have  you    come    from  ? "     "I    have  been   to 

see '"  the  name  was  unintelligible.     "  That 

is  a  lie ;  you  have  notl^^  Then,  across  the 
court,  some  one  laughed  a  low,  croaking 
laugh.  The  pink  and  saffron  figures  sepa- 
rated as  though  they  had  been  shot,  and  dis- 
appeared into  separate  bolt-holes.  It  was  a 
curious  little  incident,  and  might  have  meant 
a  great  deal  or  just  nothing  at  all.  It  dis- 
tracted the  attention  of  the  ancients  bowed 
above  the  chaupiir  cloth. 

In  the  Palace-gardens  there  is  even  a  greater 
stillness  than  that  about  the  courts,  and  here 
nothing  of  the  West,  unless  a  critical  soul 
might  take   exception  to  the  lamp-posts.     At 


Letters  of  Marque  43 

the  extreme  end  lies  a  lake-like  tank  swarm- 
ing with  muggers.  It  is  reached  through  an 
opening  under  a  block  of  zenana  buildings. 
Remembering  that  all  beasts  by  the  palaces 
of  Kings  or  the  temples  of  priests  in  this 
country  would  answer  to  the  name  of 
"  Brother,"  the  Englishman  cried  with  the 
voice  of  faith  across  the  water.  And  the 
mysterious  freemasonry  did  not  fail.  At  the 
far  end  of  the  tank  rose  a  ripple  that  grew 
and  grew  and  grew  like  a  thing  in  a  night- 
mare, and  became  presently  an  aged  77iiigge7\ 
As  he  neared  the  shore,  there  emerged,  the 
green  slime  thick  upon  his  eyelids,  another 
beast,  and  the  two  together  snapped  at  a  cigar- 
butt — the  only  reward  for  theircourtesy.  Then, 
disgusted,  they  sank  stern  first  with  a  gentle 
sigh.  Now  a  mugger's  sigh  is  the  most  sug- 
gestive sound  in  animal  speech.  It  suggested 
first  the  zenana  buildings  overhead,  the  walled 
passes  through  the  purple  hills  beyond,  a 
horse  that  might  clatter  through  the  passes 
till  he  reached  the  Man  Sagar  Lake  below 
the  passes,  and  a  boat  that  might  row  across 
the  Man  Sagar  till  it  nosed  the  wall  of  the 
Palace-tank,  and  then — then  uprose  the 
mugger  with  the  filth  upon  his  forehead  and 
winked  one  horny  eyelid — in  truth  he  did  ! — 
and  so  supplied  a  fitting  end  to  a  foolish 
fiction  of  old  days  and  things  that  might 
have  been.  But  it  must  be  unpleasant  to 
live  in  a  house  whose  base  is  washed  by 
such  a  tank. 


44  Letters  of  Marque 

And  so  back  through  the  chunamed  courts, 
and  among  the  gentle  sloping  paths  between 
the  orange  trees,  up  to  an  entrance  of  the 
palace,  guarded  by  two  rusty  brown  dogs 
from  Kabul,  each  big  as  a  man,  and  each  re- 
quiring a  man's  charpoy  to  sleep  upon.  Very 
gay  was  the  front  of  the  palace,  very  brilliant 
were  the  glimpses  of  the  damask-couched, 
gilded  rooms  within,  and  very,  very  civilized 
were  the  lamp-posts  with  Ram  Singh's  mono- 
gram, devised  to  look  like  V.  R.,  at  the  bot- 
tom, and  a  coronet  at  the  top.  An  unseen 
brass  band  among  the  orange  bushes  struck 
up  the  overture  of  the  Bfonze  Horse.  Those 
who  know  the  music  will  see  at  once  that 
that  was  the  only  tune  which  exacted  and  per- 
fectly fitted  the  scene  and  its  surroundings. 
It  was  a  coincidence  and  a  revelation. 

In  his  time,  and  when  he  was  not  fighting, 
Jey  Singh,  the  second,  who  built  the  city,  was 
a  great  astronomer — a  royal  Omar  Khayyam, 
for  he,  like  the  tent-maker  of  Nishapur,  re- 
formed a  calendar,  and  strove  to  wring  their 
mysteries  from  the  stars  with  instruments 
worthy  of  a  king.  But  in  the  end  he  wrote 
that  the  goodness  of  the  Almighty  was  above 
everything,  and  died;  leaving  his  observatory 
to  decay  without  the  palace-grounds. 

From  the  Bronze  Horse  to  the  grass-grown 
enclosure  that  holds  the  Yantr  Samrat,  or 
Prince  of  Dials,  is  rather  an  abrupt  passage. 
Jey  Singh  built  him  a  dial  with  a  gnomon 
some  ninety  feet    high,   to    throw    a    shadow 


Letters  of  Marque  45 

against  the  sun,  and  the  gnomon  stands  to- 
day, though  there  is  grass  in  the  kiosque  at 
the  top  and  the  flight  of  steps  up  the  hypot- 
enuse is  worn.  He  built  also  a  zodiacal  dial 
— twelve  dials  upon  one  platform — to  find  the 
moment  of  true  noon  at  any  time  of  the  year, 
and  hollowed  out  of  the  earth  place  for  two 
hemispherical  cups,  cut  by  belts  of  stone,  for 
comparative  observations. 

He  made  cups  for  calculating  eclipses,  and 
a  mural  quadrant  and  many  other  strange 
things  of  stone  and  mortar,  of  which  people 
hardly  know  the  names  and  but  very  little  of 
the  uses.  Once,  said  a  man  in  charge  of  two 
tiny  elephants,  Lidur  and  Har^  a  Sahib  came 
with  the  Viceroy,  and  spent  eight  days  in  the 
enclosure  of  the  great  neglected  observatory, 
seeing  and  writing  things  in  a  book.  But  he 
understood  Sanskrit — the  Sanskrit  upon  the 
faces  of  the  dials,  and  the  meaning  of  the 
gnoma  and  pointers.  Nowadays  no  one 
understands  Sanskrit — not  even  the  Pundits  ; 
but  without  doubt  Jey  Singh  was  a  great  man. 

The  hearer  echoed  the  statement,  though 
he  knew  nothing  of  astronomy,  and  of  all  the 
wonders  in  the  observatory  was  only  struck 
by  the  fact  that  the  shadow  of  the  Prince  of 
Dials  moved  over  its  vast  plate  so  quickly 
that  it  seemed  as  though  Time,  wroth  at  the 
insolence  of  Jey  Singh,  had  loosed  the  Horses 
of  the  Sun  and  were  sweeping  everything — 
dainty  Palace-gardens  and  ruinous  instru- 
ments— into  the    darkness    of   eternal    night. 


46  Letters  of  Marque 

So  be  went  away  chased  by  the  shadow  on 
the  dial,  and  returned  to  the  hotel,  where  he 
found  men  who  said — this  must  be  a  catch- 
word of  Globe-trotters — that  they  were  "  much 
pleased  at  "  Amber.  They  further  thought 
that  "  house-rent  would  be  cheap  in  those 
parts,"  and  sniggered  over  the  witticism. 
There  is  a  class  of  tourists,  and  a  strangely 
large  one,  who  individually  never  get  farther 
than  the  "much  pleased  "  state  under  any  cir- 
cumstances. This  same  class  of  tourists,  it 
has  also  been  observed,  are  usually  free  with 
hackneyed  puns,  vapid  phrases,  and  alleged 
or  bygone  jokes.  Jey  Singh,  in  spite  of  a  few 
discreditable  laches^  was  a  temperate  and  tol- 
erant man  ;  but  he  would  have  hanged  those 
Globe-trotters  in  their  trunk  straps  as  high  as 
the  Yantr  Samrat. 

Next  morning,  in  the  gray  dawn,  the  Eng- 
lishman rose  up  and  shook  the  sand  of  Jeypore 
from  his  feet,  and  went  with  Master  Coryatt 
and  Sir  Thomas  Roe  to  "  Adsmir,'^  wondering 
whether  a  year  in  Jeypore  would  be  sufficient 
to  exhaust  its  interest,  and  why  he  had  not 
gone  out  to  the  tombs  of  the  dead  Kings  and 
the  passes  of  Gulta  and  the  fort  of  Motee 
Dungri.  But  what  he  wondered  at  most — 
knowing  how  many  men  who  have  in  any  way 
been  connected  with  the  birth  of  an  institution, 
do,  to  the  end  of  their  days,  continue  to  drag 
forward  and  exhume  their  labors  and  the 
honors  that  did  not  come  to  them — was  the 
work  of  the  two  men  who,  together  for  years 


Letters  of  Marque  47 

past,  have  been  pushing  Jeypore  along  the 
stone-dressed  paths  of  civilization,  peace,  and 
comfort.  "  Servants  of  the  Raj  "  they  called 
themselves,  and  surely  they  have  served  the 
Raj  past  all  praise.  The  people  in  the  city 
and  the  camel-driver  from  the  sand-hills  told 
of  their  work.  They  themselves  held  their 
peace  as  to  what  they  had  done,  and,  when 
pressed,  referred — crowning  baseness — to 
reports.     Printed  ones  ! 


48  Letters  of  Marque 


VI. 


Arrived  at  Ajmir,  the  Englishman  fell 
among  tents  pitched  under  the  shadow  of  a 
huge  banian  tree,  and  in  them  was  a  Punjabi. 
Now  there  is  no  brotherhood  like  the  brother- 
hood of  the  Pauper  Province  ;  for  it  is  even 
greater  than  the  genial  and  unquestioning 
hospitality  which,  in  spite  of  the  loafer  and 
the  Globe-trotter,  seems  to  exist  throughout 
India.  Ajmir  being  British  territory,  though 
the  inhabitants  are  allowed  to  carry  arms,  is 
the  headquarters  of  many  of  the  banking  firms 
who  lend  to  the  Native  States.  The  com- 
plaint of  the  Setts  to-day  is  that  their  trade  is 
bad,  because  an  unsympathetic  Government 
induces  Native  States  to  make  railways  and 
become  prosperous.  "  Look  at  Jodhpur  !  " 
said  a  gentleman  whose  possessions  might  be 
roughly  estimated  at  anything  between  thirty 
and  forty-five  lakhs.  "  Time  was  when  Jodh- 
pur was  always  in  debt — and  not  so  long  ago, 
either.  Now,  they've  got  a  railroad  and  are 
carrying  salt  over  it^  and,  as  sure  as  I  stand 
here,  they  have  a  surplus  I  What  can  we 
do  ? ''  Poor  pauper  !  However,  he  makes  a 
little  profit  on  the  fluctuations  in  the  coinage 
of  the  States  round  him,  for  every  small  king 
seems  to  have  the  privilege  of  striking  his  own 
image    and    inflicting    the    Great    Exchange 


Letters  of  Marque  49 

Question  on  his  subjects.  It  is  a  poor  State 
that  has  not  two  seers  and  five  different  ru- 
pees. 

From  a  criminal  point  of  view,  Ajmir  is  not 
a  pleasant  place.  The  Native  States  lie  all 
around  and  about  it,  and  portions  of  the  dis- 
trict are  ten  miles  off,  Native  State-locked 
on  every  side.  Thus  the  criminal,  who  may 
be  a  burglarious  Meena  lusting  for  the  money 
bags  of  the  Setts,  or  a  Peshawari  down  south 
on  a  cold  weather  tour,  has  his  plan  of  cam- 
paign much  simplified. 

The  Englishman  made  only  a  short  stay  in 
the  town,  hearing  that  there  was  to  be  a  cere- 
mony— tamasha  covers  a  multitude  of  things — 
at  the  capital  of  His  Highness  the  Maharana 
of  Udaipur — a  town  some  hundred  and  eighty 
miles  south  of  Ajmir,  not  known  to  many 
people  beyond  Viceroys  and  their  Staffs  and 
the  officials  of  the  Rajputana  Agency.  So  he 
took  a  Neemuch  train  in  the  very  early  morn- 
ing and,  with  the  Punjabi,  went  due  south  to 
Chitor,  the  point  of  departure  for  Udaipur. 
In  time  the  Aravalis  gave  place  to  a  dead, 
flat,  stone-strewn  plain,  thick  with  dhak- 
jungle.  Later  the  date-palm  fraternized  with 
the  dhak,  and  low  hills  stood  on  either  side  of 
the  line.  To  this  succeeded  a  tract  rich  in 
pure  white  stone — the  line  was  ballasted  with 
it.  Then  came  more  low  hills,  each  with  a 
comb  of  splintered  rock  a-top,  overlooking 
dhak-jungle  and  villages  fenced  with  thorns — 
places  that  at  once  declared  themselves  tiger- 
4 


50  Letters  of  Marque 

ish.  Last,  the  huge  bulk  of  Chitor  showed 
itself  on  the  horizon.  The  train  crossed  the 
Cumber  River  and  halted  almost  in  the 
shadow  of  the  hills  on  which  the  old  pride  of 
Udaipur  was  set. 

It  is  difficult  to  give  an  idea  of  the  Chitor 
fortress ;  but  the  long  line  of  brown  wall 
springing  out  of  bush-covered  hill  suggested 
at  once  those  pictures,  such  as  the  Graphic 
publishes,  of  the  Inflexible  or  the  Devastation 
— gigantic  men-of-war  with  a  very  low  free- 
board plowing  through  green  sea.  The  hill 
on  which  the  fort  stands  is  ship-shaped  and 
some  miles  long,  and,  from  a  distance,  every 
inch  appears  to  be  scarped  and  guarded.  But 
there  was  no  time  to  see  Chitor.  The  busi- 
ness of  the  day  was  to  get,  if  possible,  to 
Udaipur  from  Chitor  Station,  which  was  com- 
posed of  one  platform,  one  telegraph-room,  a 
bench,  and  several  vicious  dogs. 

The  State  of  Udaipur  is  as  backward  as 
Jeypore  is  advanced — if  we  judge  it  by  the 
standard  of  civilization.  It  does  not  approve 
of  the  incursions  of  Englishmen,  and,  to  do  it 
justice,  it  thoroughly  succeeds  in  conveying 
its  silent  sulkiness.  Still,  where  there  is  one 
English  Resident,  one  Doctor,  one  Engineer, 
one  Settlement  Officer,  and  one  Missionary, 
there  must  be  a  mail  at  least  once  a  day. 
There  was  a  mail.  The  Englishman,  men 
said,  might  go  by  it  if  he  liked,  or  he  might 
not.  Then,  with  a  great  sinking  of  the  heart, 
he  began  to  realize  that  his  caste  was  of  no 


Letters  of  Marque  51 

value  in  the  stony  pastures  of  Mewar,  among 
the  swaggering  gentlemen  who  were  so  lavishly 
adorned  with  arms.  There  was  a  mail,  the 
ghost  of  a  tonga,  with  tattered  side-cloths  and 
patched  roof,  inconceivably  filthy  within  and 
without,  and  it  was  Her  Majesty's.  There  was 
another  tonga, — an  arafn  tonga,  a  carriage  of 
ease — but  the  Englishman  was  not  to  have  it. 
It  was  reserved  for  a  Rajput  Thakur  who  was 
going  to  Udaipur  with  his  "  tail."  The  Tha- 
kur, in  claret-colored  velvet  with  a  blue  tur- 
ban, a  revolver — Army  pattern — a  sword,  and 
five  or  six  friends,  also  with  swords,  came  by 
and  indorsed  the  statement.  Now,  the  mail 
tonga  had  a  wheel  which  was  destined  to  be- 
come the  Wheel  of  Fate,  and  to  lead  to  many 
curious  things.  Two  diseased  yellow  ponies 
were  extracted  from  a  dung-hill  and  yoked  to 
the  tonga  ;  and  after  due  deliberation  Her 
Majesty's  mail  started,  the  Thakur  following. 

In  twelve  hours,  or  thereabouts,  the  seventy 
miles  between  Chitor  and  Udaipur  would  be 
accomplished.  Behind  the  tonga  cantered  an 
armed  sowar.  He  was  the  guard.  The  Tha- 
kur's  tonga  came  up  with  a  rush,  ran  deliber- 
ately across  the  bows  of  the  Englishman, 
chipped  a  pony,  and  passed  on.  One  lives 
and  learns.  The  Thakur  seems  to  object  to 
following  the    foreigner. 

At  the  halting-stages,  once  in  every  six 
miles,  that  is  to  say,  the  ponies  were  carefully 
undressed  and  all  their  accoutrements  fitted 
more  or  less  accurately  on  to  the  backs  of  any 


52  Letters  of  Marque 

ponies  that  might  happen  to  be  near ;  the  re- 
leased animals  finding  their  way  back  to  their 
stables  alone  and  unguided.  There  were  no 
grooms,  and  the  harness  hung  on  by  special 
dispensation  of  Providence.  Still  the  ride 
over  a  good  road,  driven  through  a  pitilessly 
stony  country,  had  its  charms  for  a  while.  At 
sunset  the  low  hills  turned  to  opal  and  wine- 
red  and  the  brown  dust  flew  up  pure  gold  ; 
for  the  tonga  was  running  straight  into  the 
sinking  sun.  Now  and  again  would  pass  a 
traveler  on  a  camel,  or  a  gang  of  Bunjar7-as 
with  their  pack-bullocks  and  their  women ; 
and  the  sun  touched  the  brasses  of  their 
swords  and  guns  till  the  poor  wretches  seemed 
rich  merchants  come  back  from  traveling  with 
Sindbad. 

On  a  rock  on  the  right-hand  side,  thirty- 
four  great  vultures  were  gathered  over  the 
carcass  of  a  steer.  And  this  was  an  evil 
omen.  They  made  unseemly  noises  as  the 
tonga  passed,  and  a  raven  came  out  of  a  bush 
on  the  right  and  answered  them.  To  crown 
all,  one  of  the  hide  and  skin  castes  sat  on  the 
left-hand  side  of  the  road,  cutting  up  some  of 
the  flesh  that  he  had  stolen  from  the  vultures. 
Could  a  man  desire  three  more  inauspicious 
signs  for  a  night's  travel  ?  Twilight  came, 
and  the  hills  were  alive  with  strange  noises,  as 
the  red  moon,  nearly  at  her  full,  rose  over 
Chitor.  To  the  low  hills  of  the  mad  geolog- 
ical formation,  the  tumbled  strata  that  seem 
to  obey  no  law,  succeeded  level   ground,  the 


Letters  of  Marque  53 

pasture  lands  of  Mewar,  cut  by  the  Beruch 
and  Wyan,  streams  running  over  smooth 
water-worn  rock,  and,  as  the  heavy  embank- 
ments and  ample  waterways  showed,  very 
lively  in  the  rainy  season. 

In  this  region  occurred  the  last  and  most 
inauspicious  omen  of  all.  Something  had 
gone  wrong  with  a  crupper,  a  piece  of  blue  and 
white  punkah-cord.  The  Englishman  pointed 
it  out,  and  the  driver,  descending,  danced  on 
that  lonely  road  an  unholy  dance,  singing  the 
while  :  "  The  dumchi I  The  dumchil  The 
diwichi!  "  in  a  shrill  voice.  Then  he  returned 
and  drove  on,  while  the  Englishman  wondered 
into  what  land  of  lunatics  he  was  heading.  At 
an  average  speed  of  six  miles  an  hour,  it  is 
possible  to  see  a  great  deal  of  the  country ; 
and,  under  brilliant  moonlight,  Mewar  was 
desolately  beautiful.  There  was  no  night 
traffic  on  the  road  no  one  except  the  patient 
sowar,  his  shadow  an  inky  blot  on  white,  can- 
tering twenty  yards  behind.  Once  the  tonga 
strayed  into  a  company  of  date  trees  that 
fringed  the  path,  and  once  rattled  through 
a  little  town,  and  once  the  ponies  shied  at 
what  the  driver  said  was  a  rock  ;  but  it  jumped 
up  in  the  moonlight  and  went  away. 

Then  came  a  great  blasted  heath  whereon 
nothing  was  more  than  six  inches  high — a 
wilderness  covered  with  grass  and  low  thorn ; 
and  here,  as  nearly  as  might  be  midway  be- 
tween Chitor  and  Udaipur,  the  Wheel  of  Fate, 
which  had  been  for  some  time  beating  against 


S4  Letters  of  Marque 

the  side  of  the  tonga,  came  off,  and  Her 
Majesty's  mails,  two  bags  including  parcels, 
collapsed  on  the  wayside  :  while  the  English- 
man repented  him  that  he  had  neglected  the 
omens  of  the  vultures  and  the  raven,  the  low- 
caste  man  and  the  mad  driver. 

There  was  a  consultation  and  an  examina- 
tion of  the  wheel,  but  the  whole  tonga  was 
rotten,  and  the  axle  was  smashed  and  the  axle 
pins  were  bent  and  nearly  red-hot.  "  It  is 
nothing,"  said  the  driver,  "  the  mail  often 
does  this.  What  is  a  wheel?"  He  took  a 
big  stone  and  began  hammering  proudly  on 
the  tire,  to  show  that  that  at  least  was  sound. 
A  hasty  court-martial  revealed  that  there  was 
absolutely  not  one  single  relief  vehicle  on  the 
whole  road  between  Chitor  and  Udaipur. 

Now  this  wilderness  was  so  utterly  waste  that 
not  even  the  barking  of  a  dog  or  the  sound 
of  a  night-fowl  could  be  heard.  Luckily  the 
Thakur  had,  some  twenty  miles  back,  stepped 
out  to  smoke  by  the  roadside,  and  his  tonga 
had  been  passed  meanwhile.  The  sowar  was 
sent  back  to  find  that  tonga  and  bring  it  on. 
He  cantered  into  the  haze  of  the  moonlight 
and  disappeared.  Then  said  the  driver : 
"  Had  there  been  no  tonga  behind  us,  I  should 
have  put  the  mails  on  a  horse,  because  the 
Sirkar's  mail  cannot  stop."  The  Englishman 
sat  down  upon  the  parcels-bag,  for  he  felt 
that  there  was  trouble  coming.  The  driver 
looked  East  and  West  and  said  :  *'  I,  too, 
will  go  and  see  if  the   tonga   can  be  found  for 


Letters  of  Marque  55 

the  Sirkar's  dak  cannot  stop.  Meantime,  oh, 
Sahib,  do  you  take  care  of  the  mails — one 
bag  and  one  bag  of  parcels."  So  he  ran 
swiftly  into  the  haze  of  the  moonlight  and  was 
lost,  and  the  Englishman  was  left  alone  in 
charge  of  Her  Majesty's  mails,  two  unhappy 
ponies,  and  a  lop-sided  tonga.  He  lit  a  fire, 
for  the  night  was  bitterly  cold,  and  only 
mourned  that  he  could  not  destroy  the  whole 
of  the  territories  of  His  Highness,  the  Maha- 
rana  of  Udaipur.  But  he  managed  to  raise  a 
very  fine  blaze,  before  he  reflected  that  all 
this  trouble  was  his  own  fault  for  wandering 
into  Native  States  undesirous  of  English- 
men. 

The  ponies  couched  dolorously  from  time  to 
time,  but  they  could  not  lift  the  weight  of  a 
dead  silence  that  seemed  to  be  crushing  the 
earth.  After  an  interval  measurable  by 
centuries,  sowar,  driver  and  Thakur's  tonga 
reappeared  ;  the  latter  full  to  the  brim  and  bub- 
bling over  with  humanity  and  bedding.  "  We 
will  now,''  said  the  driver,  not  deigning  to 
notice  the  Englishman  who  had  been  on  guard 
over  the  mails,  "put  the  Sirkar's  mail  into  this 
tonga  and  go  forward."  Amiable  heathen  ! 
He  was  going — he  said  so — to  leave  the  Eng- 
lishman to  wait  in  the  Sahara,  for  certainly 
thirty  hours  and  perhaps  forty-eight.  Tongas 
are  scarce  on  the  Udaipur  road.  There  are 
a  few  occasions  in  life  when  it  is  justifiable 
to  delay  Her  Majesty's  mails.  This  was  one 
of  them.     Seating  himself  upon    the  parcels- 


56  Letters  of  Marque 

bag,  the  Englishman  cried  in  what  was  in- 
tended to  be  a  very  terrible  voice,  but  the 
silence  soaked  it  up  and  left  only  a  thin  trickle 
of  sound,  that  any  one  who  touched  the  bags 
would  be  hit  with  a  stick,  several  times,  over 
the  head.  The  bags  were  the  only  link  be- 
tween him  and  the  civilization  he  had  so  rashly 
foregone.      And  there  was  a  pause. 

The  Thakur  put  his  head  out  of  the  tonga 
and  spoke  shrilly  in  Mewari.  The  English- 
man replied  in  English-Urdu.  The  Thakur 
withdrew  his  head,  and  from  certain  grunts 
that  followed  seemed  to  be  wakening  his  re- 
tainers. Then  two  men  fell  sleepily  out  of  the 
tonga  and  walked  into  the  night.  "  Come 
in,"  said  the  Thakur,  "  you  and  your  bag- 
gage. My  pistol  is  in  that  corner  ;  be  care- 
ful." The  Englishman,  taking  a  mail-bag  in 
one  hand  for  safety's  sake, — the  wilderness 
inspires  an  Anglo-Indian  Cockney  with  un- 
reasoning fear, — climbed  into  the  tonga,  which 
was  then  loaded  far  beyond  Plimsoll  mark, 
and  the  procession  resumed  its  journey. 
Every  one  in  the  vehicle — it  seemed  as  full  as 
the  railway  carriage  that  held  Alice  through 
the  Looking-Glass — was  Sahib  ^.T\d  Hazur. 
Except  the  Englishman.  He  was  simple  turn 
(thou),  and  a  revolver,  Army  pattern,  was 
printing  every  diamond  in  the  chequer-work  of 
its  handle,  on  his  right  hip.  When  men 
desired  him  to  move,  they  prodded  him  with 
the  handles  of  tuhvars  till  they  had  coiled  him 
into  an  uneasy  lump.     Then  they  slept  upon 


Letters  of  Marque  57 

him,  or  cannoned  against  him  as  the  tonga 
bumped.  It  was  an  ara7n  tonga,  a  tonga  for 
ease.     That  was  the  bitterest  thought  of  all. 

In  due  season  the  harness  began  to  break 
once  every  five  minutes,  and  the  driver  vowed 
that  the  wheels  would  give  way  also. 

After  eight  hours  in  one  position,  it  is  ex- 
cessively difficult  to  walk,  still  more  difficult 
to  climb  up  an  unknown  road  into  a  dak- 
bungalow  ;  but  he  who  has  sought  sleep  on  an 
arsenal  and  under  the  bodies  of  burly  Raj- 
puts can  do  it.  The  gray  dawn  brought 
Udaipur  and  a  French  bedstead.  As  the  tonga 
jingled  away,  the  Englishman  heard  the  famil- 
iar crack  of  broken  harness.  So  he  was  not 
the  Jonah  he  had  been  taught  to  consider 
himself  all  through  that  night  of  penance ! 

A  jackal  sat  in  the  veranda  and  howled 
him  to  sleep,  and  he  dreamed  that  he  caught 
a  Viceroy  under  the  walls  of  Chitor  and  beat 
him  with  a  tulwar  till  he  turned  into  a  dak- 
pony  whose  near  foreleg  was  perpetually  com- 
ing off  and  who  would  say  nothing  but  turn 
when  he  was  asked  why  he  had  not  built  a 
railway  from  Chitor  to  Udaipur. 


58  Letters  of  Marque 


VII. 

It  was  worth  a  night's  discomfort  and  re- 
volver-beds to  sleep  upon — this  city  of  the 
Suryavansi,  hidden  among  the  hills  that  en- 
compass the  great  Pichola  lake.  Truly,  the 
King  who  governs  to-day  is  wise  in  his  deter- 
mination to  have  no  railroad  to  his  capital. 
His  predecessor  was  more  or  less  enlightened, 
and  had  he  lived  a  few  years  longer,  would 
have  brought  the  iron  horse  through  the  Do- 
barri — the  green  gate  which  is  the  entrance 
of  the  Girwa  or  girdle  of  hills  around  Udai- 
pur;  and,  with  the  train,  would  have  come 
the  tourist  who  would  have  scratched  his 
name  upon  the  Temple  of  Garuda  and  laughed 
horse-laughs  upon  the  lake.  Let  us,  there- 
fore, be  thankful  that  the  capital  of  Mewar  is 
hard  to  reach. 

Each  man  in  this  land  who  has  any  claims 
to  respectability  walks  armed,  carrying  his 
tulwar  sheathed  in  his  hand,  or  hung  by  a 
short  sling  of  cotton  passing  over  the  shoulder, 
under  his  left  armpit.  His  matchlock,  or 
smooth-bore,  if  he  has  one,  is  borne  naked  on 
the  shoulder. 

Now  it  is  possible  to  carry  any  number  of 
lethal  w^eapons  without  being  actually  danger- 
ous. An  unhandy  revolver,  for  instance, 
may  be  worn  for  years,  and,  at  the  end,  ac- 


Letters  of  Marque  59 

complish  nothing  more  noteworthy  than  the 
murder  of  its  owner.  But  the  Rajput's 
weapons  are  not  meant  for  display.  The 
Englishman  caught  a  camel-driver  who  talked 
to  him  in  Mewari,  which  is  a  heathenish  dia- 
lect, something  like  Multani  to  listen  to  ;  and 
the  man,  very  gracefully  and  courteously, 
handed  him  his  sword  and  matchlock,  the  latter 
a  heavy  stump-stock  arrangement  without 
pretense  of  sights.  The  blade  was  as  sharp 
as  a  razor,  and  the  gun  in  perfect  w^orking 
order.  The  coiled  fuse  on  the  stock  was 
charred  at  the  end,  and  the  curled  ram's-horn 
powder-horn  opened  as  readily  as  a  much- 
handled  whisky-flask.  Unfortunately,  igno- 
rance of  Mewari  prevented  conversation ;  so 
the  camel-driver  resumed  his  accoutrements 
and  jogged  forward  on  his  beast — a  superb 
black  one,  with  the  short  curled  hubshee  hair 
— while  the  EngHshman  went  to  the  city,  which 
is  built  on  hills  on  the  borders  of  the  lake. 
By  the  way,  everything  in  Udaipur  is  built  on 
a  hill.  There  is  no  level  ground  in  the  place, 
except  the  Durbar  Gardens,  of  which  more 
hereafter.  Because  color  holds  the  eye  more 
than  form,  the  first  thing  noticeable  was  neither 
temple  nor  fort,  but  an  ever-recurring  picture, 
painted  in  the  rudest  form  of  native  art,  of  a 
man  on  horseback  armed  with  a  lance,  charg- 
ing an  elephant-of-war.  As  a  rule,  the  ele- 
phant was  depicted  on  one  side  the  house-door 
and  the  rider  on  the  other.  There  was  no 
representation  of  an  army  behind.     The  fig- 


6o  Letters  of  Marque 

ures  stood  alone  upon  the  whitewash  on  house 
and  wall  and  gate,  again  and  again  and  again. 
A  highly  intelligent  priest  grunted  that  it  was 
a  picture ;  a  private  of  the  Maharana's  regu- 
lar army  suggested  that  it  was  an  elephant; 
while  a  wheat-seller,  his  sword  at  his  side, 
was  equally  certain  that  it  was  a  Raja.  Be- 
yond that  point,  his  knowledge  did  not  go. 
The  explanation  of  the  picture  is  this.  In 
the  days  when  Raja  Maun  of  Amber  put  his 
sword  at  Akbar's  service  and  won  for  him  great 
kingdoms,  Akbar  sent  an  army  against  Mewar, 
whose  then  ruler  was  Pertap  Singh,  most 
famous  of  all  the  princes  of  Mewar.  Selim, 
Akbar's  son,  led  the  army  of  the  Toork ;  the 
Rajputs  met  them  at  the  pass  of  Huldighat 
and  fought  till  one-half  of  their  band  was 
slain.  Once,  in  the  press  of  battle,  Pertap 
on  his  great  horse,  Chytak,  came  within  strik- 
ing distance  of  Selim's  elephant,  and  slew  the 
mahout,  but  Selim  escaped,  to  become  Je- 
hangir  afterwards,  and  the  Rajputs  were 
broken.  That  was  three  hundred  years  ago, 
and  men  have  reduced  the  picture  to  a  sort  of 
diagram  that  the  painter  dashes  in,  in  a  few 
minutes,  without,  it  would  seem,  knowing 
what  he  is  commemorating. 

Thinking  of  these  things,  the  Englishman 
made  shift  to  get  to  the  city,  and  presently 
came  to  a  tall  gate,  the  gate  of  the  Sun,  on 
which  the  elephant-spikes,  that  he  had  seen 
rotted  with  rust  at  Amber,  were  new  and 
pointed  and  effective.      The   City  gates  are 


Letters  of  Marque  6i 

said  to  be  shut  at  night,  and  there  is  a  story 
of  a  Viceroy's  Guard-of- Honor  which  arrived 
before  daybreak,  being  compelled  to  crawl 
ignominiously  man  by  man  through  a  little 
wicket-gate,  while  the  horses  had  to  wait 
without  till  sunrise.  But  a  civilized  yearning 
for  the  utmost  advantages  of  octroi,  and  not 
a  fierce  fear  of  robbery  and  wrong,  is  at  the 
bottom  of  the  continuance  of  this  custom. 
The  walls  of  the  City  are  loopholed  for  mus- 
ketry, but  there  seem  to  be  no  mounting  for 
guns,  and  the  moat  without  the  walls  is  dry 
and  gives  cattle  pasture.  Coarse  rubble  in 
concrete  faced  with  stone  makes  the  walls 
moderately  strong. 

Internally,  the  City  is  surprisingly  clean, 
though  with  the  exception  of  the  main  street, 
paved  after  the  fashion  of  Jullundur,  of  which, 
men  say,  the  pavement  was  put  down  in  the 
time  of  Alexander  and  worn  by  myriads  of 
naked  feet  into  deep  barrels  and  grooves.  In 
the  case  of  Udaipur,  the  feet  of  the  passengers 
have  worn  the  rock  veins  that  crop  out  every- 
where, smooth  and  shiny ;  and  in  the  rains 
the  narrow  gullies  must  spout  like  fire-hoses. 
The  people  have  been  untouched  by  cholera 
for  four  years,  proof  that  Providence  looks 
after  those  who  do  not  look  after  themselves, 
for  Neemuch  Cantonment,  a  hundred  miles 
away,  suffered  grievously  last  summer.  "  And 
what  do  you  make  in  Udaipur  ?  "  "  Swords," 
said  the  man  in  the  shop,  throwing  down  an 
armful  of  tulwa?'s,  kuttars,  and  khandas  on  the 


62  Letters  of  Marque 

stones.  **  Do  you  want  any  ?  Look  here  !  " 
Hereat,  he  took  up  one  of  the  commoner 
swords  and  flourished  it  in  the  sunshine. 
Then  he  bent  it  double,  and,  as  it  sprang 
straight,  began  to  make  it  "  speak."  Arm- 
venders  in  Udaipur  are  a  sincere  race,  for  they 
sell  to  people  who  really  use  their  wares. 
The  man  in  the  shop  was  rude — distinctly  so. 
His  first  flush  of  professional  enthusiasm 
abated,  he  took  stock  of  the  Englishman  and 
said  calmly  :  "  What  do  you  want  with  a 
sword  ?  "  Then  he  picked  up  his  goods  and 
retreated,  while  certain  small  boys,  who 
deserved  a  smacking,  laughed  riotously  from 
the  coping  of  a  little  temple  hard  by.  Swords 
seem  to  be  the  sole  manufacture  of  the  place. 
At  least,  none  of  the  inhabitants  the  English- 
man spoke  to  could  think  of  any  other. 

There  is  a  certain  amount  of  personal  vio- 
lence in  and  about  the  State,  or  else  where 
would  be  the  good  of  the  weapons  .'*  There 
are  occasionally  dacoities  more  or  less  impor- 
tant;  but  these  are  not  often  heard  of,  and, 
indeed,  there  is  no  special  reason  why  they 
should  be  dragged  into  the  light  of  an  unholy 
publicity,  for  the  land  governs  itself  in  its  own 
way,  and  is  always  in  its  own  way,  which  is 
by  no  means  ours,  very  happy.  The  Thakurs 
live,  each  in  his  own  castle  on  some  rock-faced 
hill,  much  as  they  lived  in  the  days  of  Tod  ; 
though  their  chances  of  distinguishing  them- 
selves, except  in  the  school,  and  dispensary 
line,  are  strictly  limited.     Nominally,  they  pay 


Letters  of  Marque  63 

chufoo7id,  or  a  sixth  of  their  revenues  to  the 
State,  and  are  under  feudal  obligations  to 
supply  their  Head  with  so  many  horsemen  per 
thousand  rupees  ;  but  whether  the  cJiutoond 
justifies  its  name  and  what  is  the  exact  extent 
of  the  "  tail  "  leviable,  they,  and  perhaps  the 
Rajputana  Agency,  alone  know.  They  are 
quiet,  give  no  trouble  except  to  the  wild  boar, 
and  personally  are  magnificent  men  to  look 
at.  The  Rajput  shows  his  breeding  in  his 
hands  and  feet,  which  are  almost  dispropor- 
tionately small,  and  as  well  shaped  as  those 
of  a  woman.  His  stirrups  and  sword-handles 
are  even  more  unusable  by  Westerns  than 
those  elsewhere  in  India,  whereas  the  Bhil's 
knife-handle  gives  as  large  a  grip  as  an  Eng- 
lish one.  Now  the  little  Bhil  is  an  aborigine, 
which  is  humiliating  to  think  of.  His  tongue, 
which  may  frequently  be  heard  in  the  City, 
seems  to  possess  some  variant  of  the  Zulu 
click,  which  gives  it  a  weird  and  unearthly 
character.  From  the  main  gate  of  the  City 
the  Englishman  climbed  uphill  towards  the 
Palace  and  the  Jugdesh  Temple  built  by  one 
Juggat  Singh  at  the  beginning  of  the  last  cen- 
tury. This  building  must  be — but  ignorance 
is  a  bad  guide — Jain  in  character.  From 
basement  to  the  stone  socket  of  the  temple 
flagstaff,  it  is  carved  in  high  relief  with  ele- 
phants, men,  gods,  and  monsters  in  friezes 
of  wearying  profusion. 

The  management  of  the  temple  have  daubed 
a  large  portion  of  the  building  with  whitewash, 


64  Letters  of  Marque 

for  which  their  revenues  should  be  "  cut ''  for 
a  year  or  two.  The  main  shrine  holds  a  large 
brazen  image  of  Garuda,  and,  in  the  corners 
of  the  courtyard  of  the  main  pile,  are  shrines 
to  Mahadeo,  and  the  jovial,  pot-bellied 
Ganesh.  There  is  no  repose  in  this  architec- 
ture, and  the  entire  effect  is  one  of  repulsion  ; 
for  the  clustered  figures  of  man  and  brute  seem 
always  on  the  point  of  bursting  into  unclean, 
wriggling  life.  But  it  may  be  that  the  builders 
of  this  form  of  house  desired  to  put  the  fear 
of  all  their  many  gods  into  the  hearts  of  the 
worshipers. 

From  the  temple  whose  steps  are  worn 
smooth  by  the  feet  of  men,  and  whose  courts 
are  full  of  the  faint  smell  of  stale  flowers  and 
old  incense,  the  Englishman  went  to  the  Pal- 
aces which  crown  the  highest  hill  overlooking 
the  City.  Here,  too,  whitewash  had  been 
unsparingly  applied,  but  the  excuse  was  that 
the  stately  fronts  and  the  pierced  screens  were 
built  of  a  perishable  stone  which  needed  pro- 
tection against  the  weather.  One  projecting 
window  in  the  fa9ade  of  the  main  palace  had 
been  treated  with  Minton  tiles.  Luckily  it 
was  too  far  up  the  wall  for  anything  more  than 
the  color  to  be  visible,  and  the  pale  blue 
against  the  pure  white  was  effective. 

A  picture  of  Ganesh  looks  out  over  the 
main  courtyard,  which  is  entered  by  a  triple 
gate,  and  hard  by  is  the  place  where  the 
King's  elephants  fight  over  a  low  masonry 
wall.     In  the  side   of  the  hill  on   which  the 


Letters  of  Marque  65 

Palaces  stand  is  built  stabling  for  horses  and 
elephants — proof  that  the  architects  of  old 
must  have  understood  their  business  thor- 
oughly. The  Palace  is  not  a  "  show  place," 
and,  consequently,  the  Englishman  did  not  see 
much  of  the  interior.  But  he  passed  through 
open  gardens  with  tanks  and  pavilions,  very 
cool  and  restful,  till  he  came  suddenly  upon 
the  Pichola  lake,  and  forgot  altogether  about 
the  Palace.  He  found  a  sheet  of  steel-blue 
water,  set  in  purple  and  gray  hills,  bound  in, 
on  one  side,  by  marble  bunds,  the  fair  white 
walls  of  the  Palace,  and  the  gray,  time-worn 
ones  of  the  city  ;  and,  on  the  other,  fading 
away  through  the  white  of  shallow  water,  and 
the  soft  green  of  weed,  marsh,  and  rank-pas- 
tured river-field,  into  the  land. 

To  enjoy  open  water  thoroughly,  live  for  a 
certain  number  of  years  barred  from  anything 
better  than  the  yearly  swell  and  shrinkage  of 
one  of  the  Five  Rivers,  and  then  come  upon 
two  and  a  half  miles  of  solid,  restful  lake, 
with  a  cool  wind  blowing  off  it  and  little 
waves  spitting  against  the  piers  of  a  veritable, 
albeit  hideously  ugly,  boat-house.  On  the 
faith  of  an  exile  from  the  Sea,  you  will  not 
stay  long  among  Palaces,  be  they  never  so 
lovely,  or  in  little  rooms  paneled  with  Dutch 
tiles. 

And  here  follows  a  digression.     There   is 

no  life   so  good    as  the   life  of  a  loafer   who 

travels  by  rail  and  road  ;  for  all   things   and 

all  people  are  kind  to  him.     From  the  chill 

5 


66  Letters  of  Marque 

miseries  of  a  dak-bungalow  where  they  slew 
one  hen  with  as  much  parade  as  the  French 
guillotined  Pranzini,  to  the  well-ordered 
sumptuousness  of  the  Residency,  was  a  step 
bridged  over  by  kindly  and  unquestioning 
hospitality.  So  it  happened  that  the  English- 
man was  not  only  able  to  go  upon  the  lake  in 
a  soft-cushioned  boat,  with  everything  hand- 
some about  him,  but  might,  had  he  chosen, 
have  killed  wild-duck  with  which  the  lake 
swarms. 

The  mutter  of  water  under  a  boat's  nose  was 
a  pleasant  thing  to  hear  once  more.  Starting 
at  the  head  of  the  lake,  he  found  himself  shut 
out  from  sight  of  the  main  sheet  of  water  in 
a  loch'  bounded  by  a  sunk,  broken  bund  to 
steer  across  which  was  a  matter  of  some 
nicety.  Beyond  that  lay  a  second  pool 
spanned  by  a  narrow-arched  bridge  built,  men 
said,  long  before  the  City  of  the  Rising  Sun, 
which  is  little  more  than  three  hundred  years 
old.  The  bridge  connects  the  City  with  Brah- 
mapura — a  white-walled  enclosure  filled  with 
many  Brahmins  and  ringing  with  the  noise  of 
their  conches.  Beyond  the  bridge,  the  body  of 
the  lake,  with  the  City  running  down  to  it, 
comes  into  full  view  ;  and  Providence  has  ar- 
ranged for  the  benefit  of  such  as  delight  in 
colors,  that  the  Rajputni  shall  wear  the  most 
striking  tints  that  she  can  buy  in  the  bazaars, 
in  order  that  she  may  beautify  the  ghats  where 
she  comes  to  bathe. 

The  bathing-ledge  at  the  foot  of  the  City 


Letters  of  Marque  67 

wall  was  lighted  with  women  clad  in  raw 
vermilion,  dull  red,  indigo  and  sky-blue,  saf- 
fron and  pink  and  turquoise  ;  the  water  faith- 
fully doubling  everything.  But  the  first  im- 
pression was  of  the  unreality  of  the  sight,  for 
the  Englishman  found  himself  thinking  of  the 
Simla  Fine  Arts  Exhibition  and  the  overdaring 
amateurs  who  had  striven  to  reproduce  scenes 
such  as  these.  Then  a  woman  rose  up,  and 
clasping  her  hands  behind  her  head,  looked  at 
the  passing  boat,  and  the  ripples  spread  out 
from  her  waist,  in  blinding  white  silver,  far 
across  the  water.  As  a  picture,  a  daringly  in- 
solent picture,  it  was  superb. 

The  boat  turned  aside  to  shores  where  huge 
turtles  were  lying,  and  a  stork  had  built  her 
nest,  big  as  a  haycock,  in  a  withered  tree, 
and  a  bevy  of  coots  were  flapping  and  gab- 
bling in  the  weeds  or  between  great  leaves  of 
the  Vict07'ia  regia — an  "  escape  "  from  the 
State  Gardens.  Here  were  divers  and  waders, 
kingfishers  and  snaky-necked  birds  of  the 
cormorant  family,  but  no  duck.  They  had 
seen  the  guns  in  the  boat  and  were  flying  to 
and  fro  in  companies  across  the  lake,  or 
settling — wise  things  ! — in  the  glare  of  the 
sun  on  the  water.  The  lake  was  swarming 
with  them,  but  they  seemed  to  know  exactly 
how  far  a  twelve-bore  would  carry.  Perhaps 
their  knowledge  had  been  gained  from  the 
Englishman  at  the  Residency.  Later,  as  the 
sun  left  the  lake,  and  the  hills  began  to  glow 
like   opals,    the  boat  made   her   way   to   the 


68  Letters  of  Marque 

shallow  side  of  the  lake,  through  fields  of 
watergrass  and  dead  lotus-raffle  that  rose 
as  high  as  the  bows  and  clung  lovingly  about 
the  rudder,  and  parted  with  the  noise  of  silk 
when  it  is  torn.  There  she  waited  for  the  fall 
of  twilight  when  the  duck  would  come  home  to 
bed,  and  the  Englishman  sprawled  upon  the 
cushions  in  deep  content  and  laziness,  as  he 
looked  across  to  where  two  marble  Palaces 
floated  upon  the  waters  and  saw  all  the  glory 
and  beauty  of  the  City,  and  wondered  whether 
Tod,  in  cocked  hat  and  stiff  stock,  had  ever 
come  shooting  among  the  reeds,  and,  if  so,  how 
in  the  world  he  had  ever  managed  to  bowl 
over.  .  .  . 

"  Duck  and  drake,  by  Jove  !  Confiding 
beasts,  weren't  they.  Hi  !  Lalla,  jump  out 
and  get  them  !  "  It  was  a  brutal  thing,  this 
double-barreled  murder  penetrated  in  the 
silence  of  the  marsh  when  the  kingly  wild-duck 
came  back  from  his  wanderings  with  his  mate 
at  his  side,  but — but — the  birds  were  very  good 
to  eat. 

If  the  Venetian  owned  the  Pichola  Sagar 
he  might  say  with  justice  :  "  See  it  and  die." 
But  it  is  better  to  live  and  go  to  dinner,  and 
strike  into  a  new  life — that  of  the  men  who 
bear  the  hat-mark  on  their  brow  as  plainly  as 
the  well-born  native  carries  the  tfisul  of  Shiva. 

They  are  of  the  same  caste  as  the  toilers 
on  the  Frontier — tough,  bronzed  men,  with 
wrinkles  at  the  corners  of  the  eyes,  g-otten  by 
looking  across  much  sun-glare.     When    they 


Letters  of  Marque  69 

would  speak  of  horses  they  mention  Arab  ponies, 
and  their  talk,  for  the  most  part,  drifts  Bom- 
baywards,  or  to  Abu,  which  is  their  Simla. 
By  these  things  the  traveler  may  see  that  he 
is  far  away  from  the  Presidency ;  and  will 
presently  learn  that  he  is  in  a  land  where  the 
railway  is  an  incident  and  not  an  indispensable 
luxury.  Folk  tell  strange  stories  of  drives  in 
bullock-carts  in  the  rains,  of  break  downs  in 
nullahs  fifty  miles  from  everywhere,  and  of 
elephants  that  used  to  sink  for  rest  and  re- 
freshment half-way  across  swollen  streams. 
Every  place  here  seems  fifty  miles  from  every- 
where and  the  legs  of  a  horse  are  regarded  as 
the  only  natural  means  of  locomotion.  Also, 
and  this  to  the  Indian  Cockney,  who  is  ac- 
customed to  the  bleached  or  office  man,  is 
curious,  there  are  to  be  found  many  veritable 
"tiger-men  " — not  story-spinners,  but  such  as 
have,  in  their  wanderings  from  Bikaneer  to 
Indore,  dropped  their  tiger  in  the  way  of 
business.  They  are  enthusiastic  over  prince- 
lings of  little  known  fiefs,  lords  of  austere 
estates  perched  on  the  tops  of  unthrifty  hills, 
hard  riders,  and  good  sportsmen.  And  five,  six, 
yes,  fully  nine  hundred  miles  to  the  northward, 
lives  the  sister  branch  of  the  same  caste — the 
men  who  swear  by  Pathan,  Biluch,  and  Brahui, 
with  whom  they  have  shot  or  broken  bread. 

There  is  a  saying  in  Upper  India  that  the 
more  desolate  the  country,  the  greater  the 
certainty  of  finding  a  Padre-Sahib.  The  pro- 
verb seems  to  hold  good  in  Udaipur,  where 


70  Letters  of  Marque 

the  Scotch  Presbyterian  Mission  have  a  post, 
and  others  at  Todgarh  to  the  north  and  else- 
where. To  arrive,  under  Providence,  at  the 
cure  of  souls  through  the  curing  of  bodies 
certainly  seems  the  rational  method  of  conver- 
sion ;  and  this  is  exactly  what  the  Missions  are 
doing.  Their  Padre  in  Udaipur  is  also  an 
M.  D.,  and  of  him  a  rather  striking  tale  is  told. 
Conceiving  that  the  City  could  bear  another 
hospital  in  addition  to  the  State  one,  he  took 
furlough,  went  home,  and  there,  by  crusade 
and  preaching  raised  sufficient  money  for  the 
scheme,  so  that  none  might  say  that  he  was 
beholden  to  the  State.  Returning,  he  built  his 
hospital,  a  very  model  of  neatness  and  comfort, 
and,  opening  the  operation-book,  announced 
his  readiness  to  see  any  one  and  every  one  who 
was  sick.  How  the  call  was  and  is  now  re- 
sponded to,  the  dry  records  of  that  book  will 
show ;  and  the  name  of  the  Padre-Sahib  is  hon- 
ored, as  these  ears  have  heard,  throughout 
Udaipur  and  far  around.  The  faith  that  sends 
a  man  into  the  wilderness,  and  the  secular- 
energy  which  enables  him  to  cope  with  an  ever- 
growing demand  for  medical  aid,  must,  in  time, 
find  their  reward.  If  patience  and  unweary- 
ing self-sacrifice  carry  any  merit,  they  should 
do  so  soon.  To-day  the  people  are  willing 
enough  to  be  healed,  and  the  general  influence 
of  the  Padre-Sahib  is  very  great.  But  be3^ond 
that.  .  .  ,  Still  it  was  impossible  to  judge 
aright. 


Letters  of  Marque  71 


VIII. 

In  this  land  men  tell  '*  sad  stories  of  the 
death  of  Kings  "  not  easily  found  elsewhere; 
and  also  speak  of  sati^  which  is  generally  sup- 
posed to  be  out  of  date  in  a  manner  which 
makes  it  seem  very  near  and  vivid.  Be 
pleased  to  listen  to  some  of  the  tales,  but  with 
all  the  names  cut  out,  because  a  King  has 
just  as  much  right  to  have  his  family  affairs 
respected  as  has  a  British  householder  paying 
income  tax. 

Once  upon  a  time,  that  is  to  say  when  the 
British  power  was  well  established  in  the  land 
and  there  were  railways,  was  a  King  who  lay 
dying  for  many  days,  and  all,  including  the 
Englishmen  about  him,  knew  that  his  end  was 
certain.  But  he  had  chosen  to  lie  in  an  outer 
court  or  pleasure-house  of  his  Palace  ;  and 
with  him  were  some  twenty  of  his  favorite 
wives.  The  place  in  which  he  lay  was  very 
near  to  the  city  ;  and  there  was  a  fear  that  his 
womankind  should,  on  his  death,  going  mad 
with  grief,  cast  off  their  veils  and  run  out  into 
the  streets,  uncovered  before  all  men.  In 
which  case  nothing,  not  even  the  power  of  the 
Press,  and  the  locomotive,  and  the  telegraph, 
and  cheap  education  and  enlightened  munici- 
pal councils,  could  have  saved  them  from  the 


72  Letters  of  Marque 

burning-pyre,  for  they  were  the  wives  of  a 
King.  So  the  Political  did  his  best  to  induce 
the  dying  man  to  go  to  the  Fort  of  the  City,  a 
safe  place  close  to  the  regular  zenana,  where 
all  the  women  could  be  kept  within  walls. 
He  said  that  the  air  was  better  in  the  Fort, 
but  the  King  refused  ;  and  that  he  would  re- 
cover in  the  Fort ;  but  the  King  refused. 
After  some  days,  the  latter  turned  and  said  : 
"  JV/iy  are  you  so  keen,  Sahib,  upon  getting 
my  old  bones  up  to  the  Fort?"  Driven  to 
his  last  defences,  the  Political  said  simply : 
"  Well,  Maharana  Sahib,  the  place  is  close  to 
the  road,  you  see,  and  ..."  The  King  saw 
and  said  :  "  Oh,  f/iafs  it  ?  I've  been  puzzling 
my  brain  for  four  days  to  find  out  what  on 
earth  you  were  driving  at.  I'll  go  to-night." 
*'  But  there  may  be  some  difficulty,"  began  the 
Political.  "You  think  so,"  said  the  King. 
"  If  I  only  hold  up  my  little  finger,  the  women 
will  obey  me.  Go  now,  and  come  back  in  five 
minutes,  and  all  will  be  ready  for  departure." 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  Political  withdrew  for 
the  space  of  fifteen  minutes,  and  gave  orders 
that  the  conveyances  which  he  had  kept  in 
readiness  day  and  night  should  be  got  ready. 
In  fifteen  minutes  those  twenty  women,  with 
their  hand-maidens,  were  packed  and  ready 
for  departure  ;  and  the  King  died  later  at  the 
Fort,  and  nothing  happened.  Here  the  Eng- 
lishman asked  why  a  frantic  woman  must  of 
necessity  become  a  sa/i,  and  felt  properly 
abashed    when    he   was   told   that  she  musf. 


Letters  of  Marque  73 

There  was  nothing  else  for  her  if  she  went  out 
unveiled. 

The  rush-out  forces  the  matter.  And,  in- 
deed, if  you  consider  the  matter  from  the 
Rajput  point  of  view  it  does. 

Then  followed  a  very  grim  tale  of  the  death 
of  another  King;  of  the  long  vigil  by  his  bed- 
side, before  he  was  taken  off  the  bed  to  die 
upon  the  ground ;  of  the  shutting  of  a  certain 
mysterious  door  behind  the  bed-head,  which 
shutting  was  followed  by  a  rustle  of  women's 
dress  ;  of  a  walk  on  the  top  of  the  palace,  to 
escape  the  heated  air  of  the  sick  room  ;  and 
then,  in  the  gray  dawn,  the  wail  upon  wail 
breaking  from  the  zenana  as  the  news  of  the 
King's  death  went  in.  "  I  never  wish  to  hear 
anything  more  horrible  and  awful  in  my  life. 
You  could  see  nothing.  You  could  only  hear 
the  poor  wretches,"  said  the  Political,  with  a 
shiver. 

The  last  resting-place  of  the  Maharanas  of 
Udaipur  is  at  Ahar,  a  little  village  two  miles 
east  of  the  City.  Here  they  go  down  in  their 
robes  of  state,  their  horse  following  behind, 
and  here  the  Political  saw,  after  the  death  of 
a  Maharana,  the  dancing-girls  dancing  before 
the  poor  white  ashes,  the  musicians  playing 
among  the  cenotaphs,  and  the  golden  hookah, 
sword,  and  water-vessel  laid  out  for  the  naked 
soul  doomed  to  hover  twelve  days  round  the 
funeral  pyre,  before  it  could  depart  on  its 
journey  toward  a  fresh  birth.  Once,  in  a 
neighboring  State  it  is  said,  one  of  the  danc- 


74  Letters  of  Marque 

ing-girls  stole  a  march  in  the  next  world's  pre- 
cedence and  her  lord's  affections,  upon  the 
legitimate  queens-  The  affair  happened,  by 
the  way,  after  the  Mutiny,  and  was  accom- 
plished with  great  pomp  in  the  light  of  day. 
Subsequently  those  who  might  have  stopped 
it  but  did  not,  were  severely  punished.  The 
girl  said  that  she  had  no  one  to  look  to  but 
the  dead  man,  and  followed  him,  to  use  Tod's 
formula,  "through  the  flames."  It  would  be 
curious  to  know  whether  sail  is  altogether 
abolished  among  these  lonely  hills  in  the 
walled  holds  of  the  Thakurs. 

But  to  return  from  the  burning-ground  to 
modern  Udaipur,  as  at  present  worked  under 
the  Maharana  and  his  Prime  Minister  Rae 
Punna  Lai,  C.  I.  E.  To  begin  with,  His  High- 
ness is  a  racial  anomaly  in  that,  judged  by  the 
strictest  European  standard,  he  is  a  man  of 
temperate  life,  the  husband  of  one  wife  whom 
he  married  before  he  was  chosen  to  the  throne 
after  the  death  of  the  Maharana  Sujjun 
Singh  in  1884,  Sujjun  Singh  died  childless 
and  gave  no  hint  of  his  desires  as  to  succes- 
sion and — omitting  all  the  genealogical  and 
political  reasons  which  would  drive  a  man 
mad — Futteh  Singh  was  chosen,  by  the 
Thakurs,  from  the  Seorati  Branch  of  the  family 
which  Sangram  Singh  II.  founded.  He  is 
thus  a  younger  son  of  a  younger  branch  of  a 
younger  family,  which  lucid  statement  should 
suffice  to  explain  everything.  The  man  who 
could  deliberately  unravel  the  succession  of 


Letters  of  Marque  75 

any  one  of  the  Rajput  States  would  be  per- 
fectly capable  of  explaining  the  politics  of  all 
the  Frontier  tribes  from  Jumrood  to  Quetta. 
Roughly  speaking,  the  Maharana  and  the 
Prime  Minister — in  whose  family  the  office 
has  been  hereditary  for  many  generations — 
divide  the  power  of  the  State.  They  control, 
more  or  less,  the  Mahand  Raj  Sabha  or  council 
of  Direction  and  Revision.  This  is  composed 
of  many  of  the  Rawats  and  Thakurs  of  the 
State,  am/the  Poet  Laureate  who,  under  a  less 
genial  administration,  would  be  presumably  the 
Registrar.  There  are  also  District  Officers, 
Officers  of  Customs,  Superintendents  of  the 
Mint,  Masters  of  the  Horses,  and  Supervisor 
of  Doles,  which  last  is  pretty  and  touching. 
The  State  officers  itself,  and  the  Englishman's 
investigations  failed  to  unearth  any  Bengalis. 
The  Commandant  of  the  State  Army,  about 
five  thousand  men  of  all  arms,  is  a  retired 
non-commissioned  officer,  a  Mr.  Lonergan  ; 
who,  as  the  medals  on  his  breast  attest,  has 
done  the  State  some  service,  and  now  in  his 
old  age  rejoices  in  the  local  rank  of  Major- 
General,  and  teaches  the  Maharaja's  guns  to 
make  uncommonly  good  practice.  The  In- 
fantry are  smart  and  well  set  up,  while  the 
Cavalry — rare  thing  in  Native  States — have 
a  distinct  notion  of  keeping  their  accouter- 
ments  clean.  They  are,  further,  well  mount- 
ed on  light,  wiry  Mewar  and  Kathiawar  horses. 
Incidentally,  it  may  be  mentioned  that  the 
Pathan  comes   down  with  his  pickings    from 


"jb  Letters  of  Marque 

the  Punjab  to  Udaipur,  and  finds  a  market 
there  for  animals  that  were  much  better  em- 
ployed in  our  service — but  the  complaint  is  a 
stale  one.  Let  us  see,  later  on,  what  the  Jodh- 
pur  stables  hold  ;  and  then  formulate  an 
indictment  against  the  Government.  So  much 
for  the  indigenous  administration  of  Udaipur. 
The  one  drawback  in  the  present  Maharaja, 
from  the  official  point  of  view,  is  his  want  of 
education.  He  is  a  thoroughly  good  man, 
but  was  not  brought  up  with  the  kingship 
before  his  eyes,  consequently  he  is  not  an 
English-speaking  man. 

There  is  a  story  told  of  him  which  is  worth 
the  repeating.  An  Englishman  who  flattered 
himself  that  he  could  speak  the  vernacular 
fairly  well,  paid  him  a  visit  and  discoursed 
with  a  round  mouth.  The  Maharana  heard 
him  politely,  and  turning  to  a  satellite,  demand- 
ed a  translation  ;  which  was  given.  Then  said 
the  Maharana : — "  Speak  to  him  in  Angreziy 
The  Aiigrezi  spoken  by  the  interpreter  was 
Urdu  as  the  Sahibs  speak  it  and  the  English- 
man, having  ended  his  conference,  departed 
abashed.  But  this  backwardness  is  eminently 
suited  to  a  place  like  Udaipur,  and  a  Euro- 
pean prince  is  not  always  a  desirable  thing. 
The  curious  and  even  startling  simplicity  of 
his  life  is  worth  preserving.  Here  is  a  speci- 
men of  one  of  his  days.  Rising  at  four — and 
the  dawn  can  be  bitterly  chill — he  bathes  and 
prays  after  the  custom  of  his  race,  and  at  six 
is  ready  to  take  in  hand  the  first  instalment 


Letters  of  Marque  77 

of  the  day's  work  which  comes  before  him 
through  his  Prime  Minister,  and  occupies 
him  for  three  or  four  hours  till  the  first  meal 
of  the  day  is  ready.  At  two  o'clock  he  at- 
tends the  Mahand  Raj  Sabha,  and  works  till 
five,  retiring  at  a  healthily  primitive  hour. 
He  is  said  to  have  his  hand  fairly,  firmly  upon 
the  reins  of  rule,  and  to  know  as  much  as 
most  monarchs  know  of  the  way  in  which  his 
revenues — some  thirty  lakhs — are  disposed 
of.  The  Prime  Minister's  career  has  been  a 
chequered  and  interesting  one,  including  a 
dismissal  from  power  (this  was  worked  by 
the  Queens  from  behind  the  scene),  an  arrest, 
and  an  attack  with  swords  which  all  but 
ended  in  his  murder.  He  has  not  so  much 
power  as  his  predecessors  had,  for  the  reason 
that  the  present  Maharaja  allows  little  but 
tiger-shooting  to  distract  him  from  the  super- 
vision of  the  State.  His  Highness,  by  the 
way,  is  a  first-class  shot  and  has  bagged  eigh- 
teen tigers  already.  He  preserves  his  game 
carefully,  and  permission  to  kill  tigers  is  not 
readily  obtainable. 

A  curious  instance  of  the  old  order  giving 
place  to  the  new  is  in  process  of  evolution 
and  deserves  notice.  The  Prime  Minister's 
son,  Futteh  Lai,  a  boy  of  twenty  years  old, 
has  been  educated  at  the  Mayo  College,  Aj- 
mir,  and  speaks  and  writes  English.  There 
are  few  native  officials  in  the  State  who  do 
this ;  and  the  consequence  is  that  the  lad  has 
won  a  very  fair  insight  into  State  affairs,  and 


78  Letters  of  Marque 

knows  generally  what  is  going  forward  both 
in  the  Eastern  and  Western  spheres  of  the 
little  Court.  In  time  he  may  qualify  for 
direct  administrative  powers,  and  Udaipur 
will  be  added  to  the  list  of  the  States  that 
are  governed  English  fashion.  What  the  end 
will  be,  after  three  generations  of  Princes  and 
Dewans  have  been  put  through  the  mill  of 
the  Rajkumar  Colleges,  those  who  live  will 
learn. 

More  interesting  is  the  question,  For  how 
long  can  the  vitality  of  a  people  whose  life 
was  arms  be  suspended?  Men  in  the  North 
say  that,  by  the  favor  of  the  Government 
which  brings  peace,  the  Sikh  Sirdars  are  rot- 
ting on  their  lands  ;  and  the  Rajput  Thakurs 
say  of  themselves  that  they  are  growing  rusty. 
The  old,  old  problem  forces  itself  on  the 
most  unreflective  mind  at  every  turn  in  the 
gay  streets  of  Udaipur.  A  Frenchman  might 
write  :  "  Behold  there  the  horse  of  the  Rajput 
— foaming,  panting,  caracoling,  but  always 
fettered  with  his  head  so  majestic  upon  his 
bosom  so  amply  filled  with  a  generous  heart. 
He  rages,  but  he  does  not  advance.  See 
there  the  destiny  of  the  Rajput  who  bestrides 
him,  and  upon  whose  left  flank  bounds  the 
saber  useless — the  haberdashery  of  the  iron- 
monger only  !  Pity  the  horse  in  reason,  for 
that  life  there  is  his  raison  d'etre.  Pity  ten 
thousand  times  more  the  Rajput,  for  he  has 
no  raison  iVetre.  He  is  an  anachronism  in  a 
blue  turban." 


Letters  of  Marque  79 

The  Gaul  might  be  wrong,  but  Tod  wrote 
things  which  seem  to  support  this  view,  in 
the  days  when  he  wished  to  make  "  buffer- 
states  "  of  the  land  he  loved  so  well. 

Let  us  visit  the  Durbar  Gardens,  where  little 
naked  Cupids  are  trampling  upon  fountains 
of  fatted  fish,  all  in  bronze,  where  there  are 
cypresses  and  red  paths,  and  a  deer-park  full 
of  all  varieties  of  deer,  besides  two  growling, 
fluffy  little  panther  cubs,  a  black  panther  who 
is  the  Prince  of  Darkness  and  a  gentleman, 
and  a  terrace-full  of  tigers,  bears,  and  Guzerat 
lions  brought  from  the  King  of  Oudh's  sale. 


8o  Letters  of  Marque 


IX. 


Above  the  Durbar  Gardens  lie  low  hills,  in 
which  the  Maharana  keeps,  very  strictly 
guarded,  his  pig  and  his  deer,  and  anything 
else  that  may  find  shelter  in  the  low  scrub  or 
under  the  scattered  boulders.  These  preserves 
are  scientifically  parceled  out  with  high,  red- 
stone  walls ;  and  here  and  there  are  dotted 
tiny  shooting-stands — masonry  sentry-boxes, 
in  which  five  or  six  men  may  sit  at  ease  and 
shoot.  It  had  been  arranged  to  entertain  the 
Englishmen  who  were  gathered  at  the  Resi- 
dency to  witness  the  investiture  of  the  King 
with  the  G.  C.  S.  I. — that  there  should  be  a 
little  pig-drive  in  front  of  the  Kala  Odey  or 
black  shooting-box.  The  Rajput  is  a  man 
and  a  brother,  in  respect  that  he  will  ride, 
shoot,  eat  pig,  and  drink  strong  waters  like  an 
Englishman.  Of  the  pig-hunting  he  makes 
almost  a  religious  duty,  and  of  the  wine-drink- 
ing no  less.  Read  how  desperately  they  used 
to  ride  in  Udaipur  at  the  beginning  of  the 
century  when  Tod,  always  in  his  cocked  hat 
to  be  sure,  counted  up  the  tale  of  accidents 
at  the  end  of  the  day's  sport. 

There  is  something  unfair  in  shooting  pig; 
but  each  man  who  went  out  consoled  himself 
with  the  thought  that  it  was  utterly  impossible 


Letters  of  Marque  8i 

to  ride  the  brutes  up  the  almost  perpendicular 
hillsides,  or  down  rocky  ravines,  and  that  he 
individually  would  only  go  "  just  for  the  fun 
of  the  thing."  Those  who  stayed  behind 
made  rude  remarks  on  the  subject  of  "pork 
butchers,"  and  the  dangers  that  attended 
shooting  from  a  balcony.  There  are  ways  and 
ways  of  slaying  pig — from  the  orthodox  method 
which  begins  with  "  Tlie  Boar — the  Boar — the 
7nighiy  Boar  I  ^^  overnight,  and  ends  with  a 
shaky  bridle-hand  next  morn,  to  the  sober  and 
solitary  pot-shot  at  dawn,  from  a  railway  em- 
bankment running  through  river  marsh ;  but 
the  perfect  way  is  this.  Get  a  large,  four-horse 
break,  and  drive  till  you  meet  an  unlimited 
quantity  of  pad-elephants  waiting  at  the  foot 
of  rich  hill-preserves.  Mount  slowly  and  with 
dignity,  and  go  in  swinging  procession,  by  the 
marble-faced  border  of  one  of  the  most  lovely 
lakes  on  earth.  Strike  off  on  a  semi-road, 
semi-hill-torrent  path  through  unthrifty,  thorny 
jungle,  and  so  climb  up  and  up  and  up,  till 
you  see,  spread  like  a  map  below,  the  lake 
and  the  Palace  and  the  City,  hemmed  in  by 
the  sea  of  hills  that  lies  between  Udaipur  and 
Mount  Abu  a  hundred  miles  away.  Then 
take  your  seat  in  a  comfortable  chair,  in  a  fine 
two-storied  Grand  Stand,  with  an  awning 
spread  atop  to  keep  off  the  sun,  while  the 
Rawat  of  Amet  and  the  Prime  Minister's  heir 
— no  less — invite  you  to  take  your  choice  of 
the  many  rifles  spread  on  a  ledge  at  the  front 
of  the  building.     This,  gentlemen  who  screw 


82  Letters  of  Marque 

your  pet  ponies  at  early  dawn  after  the  sounder 
that  vanishes  into  cover  soon  as  sighted,  or 
painfully  follow  the  tiger  through  the  burning 
heats  of  Mewar  in  May,  this  is  shooting  after 
the  fashion  of  Ouida — in  musk  and  ambergris 
and  patchouli. 

It  is  demoralizing.  One  of  the  best  and 
hardest  riders  of  the  Lahore  Tent  Club  in  the 
old  days,  as  the  boars  of  Bouli  Lena  Singh 
knew  well,  said  openly:  "This  is  a  first-class 
scheme,"  and  fell  to  testing  his  triggers  as 
though  he  had  been  a  pot-hunter  from  his 
birth.  Derision  and  threats  of  exposure 
moved  him  not.  "  Give  me  an  armchair  !  " 
said  he.  '*  This  is  the  proper  way  to  deal 
with  pig  ! "  And  he  put  up  his  feet  on  the 
ledge  and  stretched  himself. 

There  were  many  weapons  to  choose  from 
the  double-barreled  '500  Express,  whose  bullet 
is  a  tearing,  rending  shell,  to  the  Rawat  of 
Amet's  regulation  military  Martini-Henri.  A 
profane  public  at  the  Residency  had  suggested 
clubs  and  saws  as  amply  sufficient  for  the 
work  in  hand.  Here  they  were  moved  by 
envy,  which  passion  was  tenfold  increased 
when — but  this  comes  later  on.  The  beat 
was  along  a  deep  gorge  in  the  hills,  flanked 
on  either  crest  by  stone  walls,  manned  with 
beaters.  Immediately  opposite  the  shooting- 
box,  the  wall  on  the  upper  or  higher  hill  made 
a  sharp  turn  down-hill,  contracting  the  space 
through  which  the  pig  would  have  to  pass  to 
a  gut  which  was  variously  said  to  be  from  one 


Letters  of  Marque  83 

hundred  and  fifty  to  four  hundred  yards  across. 
Most  of  the  shooting  was  up  or  down  hill. 

A  philanthropic  desire  not  to  murder  more 
Bhils  than  were  absolutely  necessary  to  main- 
tain a  healthy  current  of  human  life  in  the 
Hilly  Tracts,  coupled  with  a  well  founded 
dread  of  the  hinder,  or  horse,  end  of  a  double- 
barreled  '500  Express  which  would  be  sure 
to  go  off  both  barrels  together,  led  the  Eng- 
lishman to  take  a  gunless  seat  in  the  back- 
ground. Then  a  silence  fell  upon  the  party, 
and  very  far  away  up  the  gorge  the  heated 
afternoon  air  was  cut  by  the  shrill  tremolo 
squeal  of  the  Bhil  beaters.  Now  a  man  may 
be  in  no  sort  or  fashion  a  shikari — may  hold 
Buddhistic  objections  to  the  slaughter  of  liv- 
ing things — but  there  is  something  in  the  extra- 
ordinary noise  of  an  agitated  Bhil,  which  makes 
even  the  most  peaceful  mortals  get  up  and 
yearn,  like  Tartarin  of  Tarescon  for  "  lions,'' 
always  at  a  safe  distance  be  it  understood. 
As  the  beat  drew  nearer,  under  the  squealing 
— the  "  ul-al-lu-lu-lu  " — was  heard  a  long- 
drawn  bittern-like  boom  of  "  So-oor  I  "  "  So- 
oorl''  (Pig!  Pig!)  and  the  crashing  of 
boulders.  The  guns  rose  in  their  places, 
forgetting  that  each  and  all  had  merely  come 
"  to  see  the  fun,''  and  began  to  fumble  among 
the  little  mounds  of  cartridges  under  the  chairs. 
Presently,  tripping  delicately  over  the  rocks, 
a  pig  stepped  out  of  a  cactus-bush,  and  the 
fusillade  began.  The  dust  flew  and  the 
branches   chipped,    but  the   pig   w-ent   on — a 


84  Letters  of  Marque 

blue-gray  shadow  almost  undistinguishable 
against  the  rocks,  and  took  no  harm.  "  Sight- 
ing shots,"  said  the  guns,  sulkily.  The  beat 
came  nearer,  and  then  the  listener  discovered 
what  the  bubbling  scream  was  like  ;  for  he 
forgot  straightway  about  the  beat  and  went 
back  to  the  dusk  of  an  Easter  Monday  in  the 
Gardens  of  the  Crystal  Palace  before  the 
bombardment  of  Kars,  "  set  piece  ten  thou- 
sand feet  square  "  had  been  illuminated,  and 
about  five  hundred  'Arries  were  tickling  a 
thousand  'Arriets.  Their  giggling  and  noth- 
ing else  was  the  noise  of  the  Bhil.  So  curi- 
ously does  Sydenham  and  Western  Rajputana 
meet.  Then  came  another  pig,  who  was 
smitten  to  the  death  and  rolled  down  among 
the  bushes,  drawing  his  last  breath  in  a  hu- 
man and  horrible  manner. 

But  full  on  the  crest  of  the  hill,  blown 
along — there  is  no  other  word  to  describe  it — 
like  a  ball  of  thistledown,  passed  a  brown  shad- 
ow, and  men  cried:  '-^  Bnghccra,''  ox  "Pan- 
ther !  "  according  to  their  nationalities,  and 
blazed.  The  shadow  leaped  the  wall  that  had 
turned  the  pig  downhili,  and  vanished  among 
the  cactus.  "Never  mind,"  said  the  Prime 
Minister's  son,  consolingly,  "  we'll  beat  the 
other  side  of  the  hill  afterwards  and  get  him 
yet."  "Oh,  he's  a  mile  off  by  this  time,"  said 
the  guns  ;  but  the  Rawat  of  Amet,  a  magnifi- 
cent young  man,  smiled  a  sweet  smile  and  said 
nothing.  More  pig  passed  and  were  slain, 
and  many  more  broke  back  through  the  beat- 


Letters  of  Marque  85 

ers  who  presently  came  through  the  cover  in 
scores.  They  were  in  russet  green  and  red 
uniform,  each  man  bearing  a  long  spear,  and 
the  hillside  was  turned  on  the  instant  to  a 
camp  of  Robin  Hood's  foresters.  Then  they 
brought  up  the  dead  from  behind  bushes  and 
under  rocks — among  others  a  twenty-seven- 
inch  brute  who  bore  on  his  flank  (all  pigs  shot 
in  a  beat  are  ex-officio  boars)  a  hideous,  half- 
healed  scar,  big  as  a  man's  hand,  of  a  bullet 
wound.  Express  bullets  are  ghastly  things 
in  their  effects,  for,  as  the  shikari^  is  never  tired 
of  demonstrating,  they  knock  the  inside  of 
the  animals  into  pulp. 

The  second  beat,  of  the  reverse  side  of  the 
hill,  had  barely  begun  when  the  panther  re- 
turned— uneasily  as  if  something  were  keep- 
ing her  back — much  lower  down  the  hill. 
Then  the  face  of  the  Rawat  of  Amet  changed, 
as  he  brought  his  gun  up  to  his  shoulder. 
Looking  at  him  as  he  fired,  one  forgot  all 
about  the  Mayo  College  at  which  he  had  been 
educated,  and  remembered  only  some  trivial 
and  out-of-date  affairs,  in  which  his  forefathers 
had  been  concerned,  when  a  bridegroom,  with 
his  bride  at  his  side,  charged  down  the  slope 
of  the  Chitor  road  and  died  among  Akbar's 
men.  There  are  stories  connected  with  the 
House  of  Amet,  which  are  told  in  Mewar  to- 
day. The  young  man's  face,  for  as  short  a 
time  as  it  takes  to  pull  trigger  and  see  where 
the  bullet  falls,  was  a  white  light  upon  all 
these  tales. 


86  Letters  of  Marque 

Then  the  mask  shut  down,  as  he  clicked 
out  the  cartridge,  and,  very  sweetly,  gave  it 
as  his  opinion  that  some  other  gun,  not  his 
own,  had  bagged  the  panther  who  lay  shot 
through  the  spine,  feebly  trying  to  drag  her- 
self downhill  into  cover.  It  is  an  awful  thing 
to  see  a  big  beast  die,  when  the  soul  is 
wrenched  out  of  the  struggling  body  in  ten 
seconds.  Wild  horses  shall  not  make  the 
Englishman  disclose  the  exact  number  of 
shots  that  were  fired.  It  is  enough  to  say 
that  four  Englishmen,  now  scattered  to  the 
four  winds  of  heaven,  are  each  morally  cer- 
tain that  he  and  he  alone  shot  that  panther. 
In  time,  when  distance  and  the  mirage  of  the 
sands  of  Uodhpur  shall  have  softened  the 
harsh  outlines  of  truth,  the  Englishman  who 
did  not  fire  a  shot  will  come  to  believe  that 
he  was  the  real  slayer,  and  will  carefully 
elaborate  that  lie. 

A  few  minutes  after  the  murder,  a  two-year- 
old  cub  came  trotting  along  the  hillside,  and 
was  bowled  over  by  a  very  pretty  shot  be- 
hind the  left  ear  and  through  the  palate. 
Then  the  beaters'  lances  showed  through  the 
bushes,  and  the  guns  began  to  realize  that  they 
had  allowed  to  escape,  or  had  driven  back  by 
their  fire,  a  multitude  of  pig. 

This  ended  the  beat,  and  the  procession  re- 
turned to  the  Residency  to  heap  dead  panthers 
upon  those  who  had  called  them  "pork 
butchers,"  and  to  stir  up  the  lake  of  envy  with 


Letters  of  Marque  87 

the  torpedo  of  brilliant  description.  The  Eng- 
lishman's attempt  to  compare  the  fusillade 
which  greeted  the  panther  to  the  continuous 
drumming  of  a  ten-barreled  Nordenfeldt  was, 
however,  coldly  received.  Thus  harshly  is 
truth  treated  all  the  world  over. 

And  then,  after  a  little  time,  came  the  end, 
and  a  return  to  the  road  m  search  of  new 
countries.  But  shortly  before  the  departure, 
the  Padre- Sahib,  who  knows  every  one  in 
Udaipur,  read  a  sermon  m  a  sentence.  The 
Maharana^s  investiture,  which  has  already 
been  described  in  the  Indian  papers,  had  taken 
place,  and  the  carriages,  duly  escorted  by  the 
Erinpura  Horse,  were  returning  to  the  Resi- 
dency. In  a  niche  of  waste  land,  under  the 
shadow  of  the  main  gate,  a  place  strewn  with 
rubbish  and  shards  of  pottery,  a  dilapidated 
old  man  was  trying  to  control  his  horse  and  a 
hookah  on  the  saddle-bow.  The  blundering 
garron  had  been  made  restive  by  the  rush  past, 
and  the  hookah  all  but  fell  from  the  hampered 
hands.      "  See    that    man,"    said    the    Padre, 

tersely.       "  That's Singh.     He  intrigued 

for  the  throne  not  so  very  long  ago."  It  was 
a  pitiful  little  picture,  and  needed  no  further 
comment. 

For  the  benefit  of  the  loafer  it  should  be 
noted  that  Udaipur  will  never  be  pleasant  or 
accessible  until  the  present  Mail  Contractors 
have  been  hanged.  They  are  extortionate 
and  untruthful,  and  their  one  set  of  harness 
and  one  tonga  are  as  rotten  as  pears.     How- 


88  Letters  of  Marque 

ever,  the  weariness  of  the  flesh  must  be  great 
indeed,  to  make  the  wanderer  blind  to  the 
beauties  of  a  journey  by  clear  starlight  and  in 
biting  cold  to  Chitor.  About  six  miles  from 
Udaipur,  the  granite  hills  close  in  upon  the 
road,  and  the  air  grows  warmer  until,  with  a 
rush  and  a  rattle,  the  tonga  swings  through 
the  great  Dobarra,  the  gate  in  the  double  circle 
of  hills  round  Udaipur  on  to  the  pastures  of 
Mewar.  More  than  once  the  Girwa  has  been 
a  death-trap  to  those  who  rashly  entered  it  ; 
and  an  army  has  been  cut  up  on  the  borders 
of  the  Pichola  Lake.  Even  now  the  genius 
of  the  place  is  strong  upon  the  hills,  and 
as  he  felt  the  cold  air  from  the  open 
ground  without  the  barrier,  the  Englishman 
found  himself  repeating  the  words  of  one  of 
the  Hat-marked  tribe  whose  destiny  kept  him 
within  the  Dobarra.  "  You  must  have  a  hobby 
of  some  kind  in  these  parts  or  you'll  die." 
Very  lovely  is  Udaipur,  and  thrice  pleasant 
are  a  few  days  spent  within  her  gates,  but.  .  . 
read  what  Tod  said  who  stayed  two  years  be- 
hind the  Dobarra,  and  accepted  the  deserts 
of  Marwar  as  a  delightful  change. 

It  is  good  to  be  free,  a  wanderer  upon  the 
highways,  knowing  not  what  to-morrow  will 
bring  forth — whether  the  walled-m  niceties  of 
an  English  household,  rich  in  all  that  makes 
life  fair  and  desirable,  or  a  sleepless  night  in 
the  society  of  a  goods-^/^;/7-booking-office-<rz^w- 
parcels-clerk,  on  fifteen  rupees  a  month,  who 
tells  in  stilted  English  the  story  of  his  official 


Letters  of  Marque  89 

life,  while  the  telegraph  gibbers  like  a  maniac 
once  in  an  hour  and  then  is  dumb,  and  the 
pariah-dogs  fight  and  howl  over  the  cotton- 
bales  on  the  platform. 

Verily,  there  is  no  life  like  life  on  the  road — 
when  the  skies  are  cool  and  all  men  are  kind. 


Qo  Letters  of  Marque 


X 


There  is  a  certain  want  of  taste,  an  almost 
actual  indecency,  in  seeing  the  sun  rise  on 
the  earth.  Until  the  heat-haze  begins  and 
the  distances  thicken,  Nature  is  so  very  naked 
that  the  Actaeon  who  has  surprised  her  dress- 
ing, blushes.  Sunrise  on  the  plains  of  Mewar 
is  an  especially  brutal  affair. 

The  moon  was  burnt  out  and  the  air  was 
bitterly  cold,  when  the  Englishman  headed 
due  east  in  his  tonga,  and  the  patient  sowar 
behind  nodded  and  yawned  in  the  saddle. 
There  was  no  warning  of  the  day's  advent. 
The  horses  were  unharnessed,  at  one  halting- 
stage,  in  the  thick,  soft  shadows  of  night,  and 
ere  their  successors  had  limped  under  the 
bar,  a  raw  and  cruel  light  was  upon  all  things, 
so  that  the  Englishman  could  see  every  rent 
seam  in  the  rocks  around.  A  little  further, 
and  he  came  upon  the  black  bulk  of  Chitor 
between  him  and  the  morning  sun.  It  has 
already  been  said  that  the  Fort  resembles  a 
man-of-war.  Every  distant  view  heightens 
this  impression,  for  the  swell  of  the  sides  fol- 
lows the  form  of  a  ship,  and  the  bastions  on  the 
south  wall  make  the  sponsons  in  which  the 
machine-guns  are  mounted.  From  bow  to 
stern,  the  thing  more  than  three  miles  long, 
is  between  three  and  five  hundred  feet  high. 


Letters  of  Marque  91 

and  from  one-half  to  one-quarter  of  a  mile 
broad.  Have  patience,  now,  to  listen  to  a 
rough  history  of  Chitor. 

In  the  beginning,  no  one  knows  clearly 
who  scraped  the  hillsides  of  the  hill  rising 
out  of  the  bare  plain,  and  made  of  it  a  place 
of  strength.  It  is  written  that,  eleven  and  a 
half  centuries  ago,  Bappa  Rawul,  the  demi- 
god whose  stature  was  twenty  cubits,  whose 
loin-cloth  was  five  hundred  feet  long,  and 
whose  spear  was  beyond  the  power  of  mortal 
man  to  lift,  took  Chitor  from  "  Man  Singh, 
the  Mori  Prince,"  and  wrote  the  first  chapter 
of  the  history  of  Mewar,  which  he  received 
ready-made  from  Man  Singh  who,  if  the 
chronicles  speak  sooth,  was  his  uncle.  Many 
and  very  marvelous  legends  cluster  round 
the  name  of  Bappa  Rawul  ;  and  he  is  said  to 
have  ended  his  daj^s  far  away  from  India,  in 
Khorasan,  where  he  married  an  unlimited 
number  of  the  Daughters  of  Heth,  and  was 
the  father  of  all  the  Nowshera  Pathans. 
Some  who  have  wandered,  by  the  sign-posts 
of  inscription,  into  the  fogs  of  old  time,  aver 
that,  two  centuries  before  Bappa  Rawul  took 
Chitor  the  Mori  division  of  the  Pramar  Raj- 
puts, who  are  the  ruling  family  of  Mewar, 
had  found  a  hold  in  Bhilwara,  and  for  four 
centuries  before  that  time  had  ruled  in 
Kathiawar  ;  and  had  royally  sacked  and  slain 
and  been  sacked  and  slain  in  turn.  But  these 
things  are  for  the  curious  and  the  scholar, 
and    not   for   the   reader   who   reads    lightly. 


92  Letters  of  Marque 

Nine  princes  succeeded  Bappa,  between  728 
and  106S  A.  D.,  and  among  these  was  one 
Alluji,  who  built  a  Jain  tower  upon  the  brow 
of  the  hill,  for  in  those  days,  though  the  Sun 
was  worshiped,  men  were  all  Jains. 

And  here  they  lived  and  sallied  into  the 
plains,  and  fought  and  increased  the  borders 
of  their  kingdom,  or  were  suddenly  and 
stealthily  murdered  or  stood  shoulder  to 
shoulder  against  the  incursions  of  the  "  Devil 
men  "  from  the  north.  In  1150  a.  d.  was 
born  Samar  Singh,  and  he  married  into  the 
family  of  Prithi  Raj,  the  last  Hindu  Em- 
peror of  Delhi,  who  was  at  feud,  in  regard 
to  a  succession  question,  with  the  Prince 
of  Kanauj.  In  the  war  that  followed,  Kanauj, 
being  hard  pressed  by  Prithi  Raj,  and  Samar 
Singh,  called  Shahabuddin  Chori  to  his  aid. 
At  first,  Samar  Singh  and  Prithi  Raj  broke  the 
army  of  the  Northern  somewhere  in  the  lower 
Punjab,  but  two  years  later  Shahabuddin 
came  again,  and,  after  three  days'  fighting 
on  the  banks  of  the  Kaggar,  slew  Samar 
Singh,  captured  and  murdered  Prithi  Raj,  and 
sacked  Delhi  and  Amber,  while  Samar  Singh's 
favorite  queen  became  sati  at  Chitor.  But 
another  wife,  a  princess  of  Patun,  kept  her  life, 
and  when  Shahabuddin  sent  down  Kutbuddin 
to  waste  her  lands,  led  the  Rajput  army,  in  per- 
son, from  Chitor,  and  defeated  Kutbuddin. 

Then  followed  confusion,  through  eleven  tur- 
bulent reigns  that  the  annalist  has  failed  to  un- 
ravel.    Once  in  the  years  between  1193  and 


Letters  of  Marque  93 

the  opening  of  the  fourteenth  century,  Chitor 
must  have  been  taken  by  the  Mussulman,  for 
it  is  written  that  one  prince  "  recovered  Chi- 
tor and  made  the  name  of  Rana  to  be  recog- 
nized by  all."  Six  princes  were  slain  in  bat- 
tles against  the  Mussulman,  in  vain  attempts  to 
clear  the  land  from  the  presence  of  the  infidel. 
Then  Ala-ud-din  Khilji,  the  Pathan  Emperor 
swept  the  country  to  the  Dekkan.  In  those 
days,  and  these  things  are  confusedly  set 
down  as  having  happened  at  the  end  of  the 
thirteenth  century,  a  relative  of  Rana  Lakhs- 
man  Singh,  the  then  Rana  of  Chitor,  had 
married  a  Rajput  princess  of  Ceylon — Pudmi- 
ni,  *'  And  she  was  fairest  of  all  flesh  on  earth." 
Her  fame  was  sung  through  the  land  by  the 
poets,  and  she  became,  in  some  sort,  the  Helen 
of  Chitor.  Ala-ud-din  heard  of  her  beauty  and 
promptly  besieged  the  Fort.  When  he  found 
his  enterprise  too  difficult,  he  prayed  that  he 
might  be  permitted  to  see  Pudmini's  face  in  a 
mirror,  and  this  wish,  so  says  the  tale,  was 
granted.  Knowing  that  the  Rajput  was  a 
gentleman,  he  entered  Chitor  almost  unarmed, 
saw  the  face  in  the  mirror,  and  was  well 
treated ;  the  husband  of  the  fair  Pudmini 
accompanying  him,  in  return,  to  the  camp  at 
the  foot  of  the  hill.  Like  Raja  Runjeet  in 
the  ballad  the  Rajput  he — 

"...  trusted  a  Mussulman's  word 
Wah  !     Wah  !     Trust  a  liar  to  lie. 
Out  of  his  eyrie  they  tempted  my  bird. 
Fettered  his  ^v•ings  that  he  could  not  fly." 


94  Letters  of  Marque 

Pudmini's  husband  was  caught  by  a  trick,  and 
Ala-ud-din  demanded  Pudmini  as  the  price  of 
his  return.  The  Rajputs  here  showed  that 
they  too  could  scheme,  and  sent,  in  great  state, 
Pudmini's  litter  to  the  besiegers'  intrench- 
ments.  But  there  was  no  Pudmini  in  the 
litter,  and  her  following  of  handmaidens  was  a 
band  of  seven  hundred  armed  men.  Thus,  in 
the  confusion  of  a  camp-fight,  Pudmini's  hus- 
band was  rescued,  and  Ala-ud-din's  soldiery 
followed  hard  on  his  heels  to  the  gates  of 
Chitor,  where  the  best  and  bravest  on  the 
rock  were  killed  before  Ala-ud-din  withdrew, 
only  to  return  soon  after  and,  with  a  doubled 
army,  besiege  in  earnest.  His  first  attack 
men  called  the  half-sack  of  Chitor,  for  though 
he  failed  to  win  within  the  walls,  he  killed  the 
flower  of  the  Rajputs.  The  second  attack 
ended  in  the  first  sack  and  the  awful  sati  of 
the  women  on  the  rock. 

When  everything  was  hopeless  and  the  very 
terrible  Goddess, who  lives  in  the  bowels  of  Chi- 
tor, had  spoken  and  claimed  for  the  death  eleven 
out  of  the  twelve  of  the  Rana's  sons,  all  who 
were  young  or  fair  women  betook  themselves 
to  a  great  underground  chamber,  and  the  fires 
were  lit  and  the  entrance  was  walled  up  and 
they  died.  The  Rajputs  opened  the  gates  and 
fought  till  they  could  fight  no  more,  and  Ala- 
ud-din  the  victorious  entered  a  wasted  and 
desolated  city.  He  wrecked  everything  except 
only  the  Palace  of  Pudmini  and  the  old  Jain 
tower  before  mentioned.    That  was  all  he  could 


Letters  of  Marque  95 

do,  for  there  were  few  men  alive  of  the  defenders 
of  Chitor  when  the  day  was  won,  and  the 
women  were  ashes  underground. 

Ajai  Singh,  the  one  surviving  son  of  Lakhs- 
man  Singh,  had  at  his  father's  insistence, 
escaped  from  Chitor  to  "  carry  on  the  line  '' 
when  better  days  should  come.  He  brought 
up  Hamir,  son  of  one  of  his  elder  brothers, 
to  be  a  thorn  in  the  side  of  the  invader,  and 
Hamir  overthrew  Meldeo,  chief  of  Jhalore  and 
vassal  of  Ala-ud-din,  into  whose  hands  Ala- 
ud-din  had,  not  too  generously,  given  what  was 
left  to  Chitor.  So  the  Sesodias  came  to  their 
own  again,  and  the  successors  of  Hamir  ex- 
tended their  kingdoms  and  rebuilt  Chitor,  as 
kings  know  how  to  rebuild  cities  in  a  land 
wdiere  human  labor  and  life  are  cheaper  than 
bread  and  water.  For  two  centuries,  saith 
Tod,  Mewar  flourished  exceedingly  and  was 
the  paramount  kingdom  of  all  Rajasthan. 
Greatest  of  all  the  successors  of  Hamir,  was 
Kumbha  Rana  who,  when  the  Ghilzai  dynasty 
was  rotting  away  and  Viceroys  declared 
themselves  kings,  met,  defeated,  took  captive, 
and  released  without  ransom,  Mahmoud  of 
INIalwa.  Kumbha  Rana  built  a  Tower  of  Vic- 
tory, nine  stories  high,  to  commemorate  this 
and  the  other  successes  of  his  reign,  and  the 
tower  stands  to-day  a  mark  for  miles  across 
the  plains. 

But  the  well-established  kingdom  weakened, 
and  the  rulers  took  favorites  and  disgusted 
their   best  supporters — after  the  immemorial 


96  Letters  of  Marque 

custom  of  too  prosperous  rulers.  Also  they 
murdered  one  another.  In  1535  a.  d.,  Baha- 
dur Shah,  King  of  Gujarat,  seeing  the  decay, 
and  remembering  how  one  of  his  predecessors, 
together  with  ^lahmoud  of  Malwa,  had  been 
humbled  by  Mewar  in  years  gone  by,  set  out 
to  take  his  revenge  of  Time  and  i\Iewar  then 
ruled  by  Rana  Bikrmajit,  who  had  made  anew 
capital  at  Deola.  Bikrmajit  did  not  stay  to 
give  battle  in  that  place.  His  chiefs  were 
out  of  hand,  and  Chitor  was  the  heart  and 
brain  of  Mewar;  so  he  marched  thither,  and 
the  Gods  were  against  him.  Bahadur  Shah 
mined  one  of  the  Chitor  bastions,  and  wiped 
out  in  the  explosion  the  Hara  Prince  of  Boon- 
dee,  with  five  hundred  followers.  Jowahir 
Bae,  Bikrmajit's  mother,  headed  a  sally  from 
the  walls,  and  was  slain.  There  were  Frank 
gunners  among  Bahadur  Shah's  forces,  and 
they  hastened  the  end.  The  Rajputs  made  a 
second  johur,  a  sacrifice  greater  than  the 
sacrifice  of  Pudmini  ;  and  thirteen  thousand 
were  blown  up  in  the  magazines,  or  stabbed 
or  poisoned,  before  the  gates  were  opened  and 
the  defenders  rushed  down. 

Out  of  the  carnage  was  saved  Udai  Singh, 
a  babe  of  the  Blood  Royal,  who  grew  up  to  be 
a  coward,  and  a  shame  to  his  line.  The  story 
of  his  preservation  is  written  large  in  Tod, 
and  Edwin  Arnold  sings  it.  Read  it,  who 
are  interested.  But,  when  Udai  Singh  came 
to  the  throne  of  Chitor,  through  blood  and 
misrule,  after  Bahadur  Shah  had  withdrawn 


Letters  of  Marque  97 

from  the  wreck  of  the  Fort,  Akbar  sat  on 
the  throne  of  Delhi,  and  it  was  written  that 
few  people  should  withstand  the  '^  Guardian 
of  Mankind."  Moreover,  Udai  Singh  was  the 
slave  of  a  woman.  It  was  Akbar's  destiny  to 
subdue  the  Rajputs,  and  to  win  many  of  them 
to  his  own  service  ;  sending  a  Rajput  Prince 
of  Amber  to  get  him  far-away  Arrakan.  Ak- 
bar marched  against  Chitor  once,  and  was 
repulsed ;  the  woman  who  ruled  Udai  Singh 
heading  a  charge  against  the  besiegers  because 
of  the  love  she  bore  to  her  lover.  Something 
of  this  sort  had  happened  in  Ala-ud-din's  time, 
and,  like  Ala-ud-din,  Akbar  returned  and  sat 
down,  in  a  huge  camp,  before  Chitor  in  1568 
A.  D.  Udai  Singh  fled  what  was  coming ;  and 
because  the  Goddess  of  Chitor  demands  always 
that  a  crowned  head  must  fall  if  the  defense  of 
her  home  is  to  be  successful,  Chitor  fell  as  it 
had  fallen  before — in  ^.j'oJiur  of  thousands,  a 
last  rush  of  the  men,  and  the  entry  of  the 
conqueror  into  a  reeking,  ruined  slaughter- 
pen.  Akbar's  sack  was  the  most  terrible  of 
the  three,  for  he  killed  everything  that  had 
life  upon  the  rock,  and  wrecked  and  over- 
turned and  spoiled.  The  wonder,  the  lasting 
wonder,  is  that  he  did  not  destroy  Kumbha 
Rana's  Tower  of  Victory,  the  memorial  of  the 
defeat  of  a  Mahometan  prince.  With  the 
third  sack  the  glory  of  Chitor  departed,  and 
Udai  Singh  founded  himself  a  new  capital, 
the  city  of  Udaipur.  Though  Chitor  was  re- 
covered in  Jehangir's  time  by  Udai  Singh's 
7 


98  Letters  of  Marque 

grandson,  it  was  never  again  made  the  capital 
of  Mewar.  It  stood,  and  rotted  where  it  stood, 
till  enlightened  and  loyal  feudatories,  in  the 
present  years  of  grace,  made  attempts,  with 
the  help  of  Executive  Engineers,  to  sweep  it 
up  and  keep  it  in  repair.  The  above  is 
roughly,  very  roughly  indeed,  the  tale  of  the 
sacks  of  Chitor. 

FoUov/s  an  interlude,  for  the  study  even  of 
inaccurate  history  is  indigestible  to  many. 
There  was  an  elephant  at  Chitor,  to  take  birds 
of  passage  up  the  hill,  and  she — she  was  fifty- 
one  years  old,  and  her  name  was  Gerowlia — ■ 
came  to  the  dak-bungalow  for  the  English- 
man. Let  not  the  word  dak-bungalow  deceive 
any  man  into  believing  that  there  is  even 
moderate  comfort  at  Chitor.  Gerowlia  waited 
in  the  sunshine,  and  chuckled  to  herself  like 
a  female  pauper  when  she  receives  snuff.  Her 
mahout  said  that  he  would  go  away  for  a 
drink  of  water.  So  he  walked,  and  walked,  and 
walked,  till  he  disappeared  on  the  stone-strewn 
plains,  and  the  Englishman  was  left  alone  with 
Gerowlia,  aged  fifty-one.  She  had  been  tied 
by  the  chain  on  her  near  hind  leg  to  a  pillar 
of  the  veranda  ;  but  the  string  was  coir,  and 
more  an  emblem  of  authority  than  a  means  of 
restraint.  When  she  had  thoroughly  ex- 
hausted all  the  resources  of  the  country 
within  range  of  her  trunk,  she  ate  up  the 
string  and  began  to  investigate  the  veranda. 
There  was  more  coir  string,  and  she  ate  it  all, 
while  the    carpenter,  who  was  repairing  the 


Letters  of  Marque  99 

dak-bungalow,  cursed  her  and  her  ancestry 
from  afar.  About  this  time  the  Englishman 
was  roused  to  a  knowledge  of  the  business, 
for  Gerowlia,  having  exhausted  the  string, 
tried  to  come  into  the  veranda.  She  had, 
most  unwisely,  been  pampered  with  biscuits 
an  hour  before.  The  carpenter  stood  on  an 
outcrop  of  rock,  and  said  angrily :  "  See 
what  damage  your  hathi  has  done.  Sahib." 
"  'Tisn't  my  hatki,^^  said  the  Sahib,  plaintively. 
"  You  ordered  it,"  quoth  he,  "  and  it  has  been 
here  ever  so  long,  eating  up  everything."  He 
threw  pieces  of  stone  at  Gerowlia,  and  went 
away.  It  is  a  terrible  thing  to  be  left  alone 
with  an  unshackled  elephant,  even  though 
she  be  a  venerable  spinster.  Gerowlia  moved 
round  the  dak-bungalow,  blowing  her  nose  in 
a  nervous  and  undecided  manner,  and  pres- 
ently found  some  more  string  and  thatch, 
which  she  ate.  This  was  too  much.  The 
Englishman  went  out  and  spoke  to  her.  She 
opened  her  mouth  and  salaamed  ;  meaning 
thereby  "biscuits."  So  long  as  she  remained 
in  this  position  she  could  do  no  harm. 

Imagine  a  boundless  rock-strewn  plain, 
broken  here  and  there  by  low  hills,  dominated 
by  the  rock  of  Chitor,  and  bisected  by  a 
single  metre-gauge  railway  track  running  into 
the  Infinite,  and  unrelieved  by  even  a  way-in- 
spector's trolley.  In  the  foreground  put  a 
brand-new  dak-bungalow,  furnished  with  a 
French  bedstead,  and  nothing  else  ;  in  the 
veranda   place  an   embarrassed    Englishman, 


100  Letters  of  Marque 

smiling  into  the  open  mouth  of  an  idiotic  female 
elephant.  But  Gerowlia  could  not  live  on 
smiles  alone.  Finding  that  no  food  was  forth- 
coming, she  shut  her  mouth,  and  renewed  her 
attempts  to  get  into  the  veranda,  and  ate 
more  thatch.  To  say  "  Hi !  "  to  an  elephant 
is  a  misdirected  courtesy.  It  quickens  the 
pace,  and  if  you  flick  her  on  the  trunk  with  a 
wet  towel,  she  curls  the  trunk  out  of  harm's 
way.  Special  education  is  necessary.  A 
little  breechless  boy  passed,  carrying  a  lump 
of  stone.  '•'  Hit  her  on  the  feet,  Sahib,"  said 
he  ;  "  hit  her  on  the  feet."  Gerowlia  had  by 
this  time  nearly  scraped  off  her  pad,  and  there 
were  no  signs  of  the  inahoiit.  The  English- 
man went  out  and  found  a  tent-peg,  and 
returning,  in  the  extremity  of  his  wrath  smote 
her  bitterly  on  the  nails  of  the  near  forefoot. 
Gerowlia  held  up  her  foot  to  be  beaten, 
and  made  the  most  absurd  noises — squawked 
in  fact,  exactly  like  an  old  lady  who  has  nar- 
rowly escaped  being  run  over.  She  backed 
out  of  the  veranda,  still  squawking,  on  three 
feet,  and  in  the  open  held  up  near  and  off 
forefoot  alternately  to  be  beaten.  It  was 
very  pitiful,  for  one  swing  of  her  trunk  could 
have  knocked  the  Englishman  flat.  He 
ceased  whacking  her,  but  she  squawked  for 
some  mmute^i,  and  then  fell  placidly  asleep 
in  the  sunshine.  When  the  mahout  returned, 
he  beat  her  for  breaking  her  tether  exactly  as 
the  Englishman  had  done,  but  much  more 
severely,  and  the  ridiculous  old  thing  hopped 


Letters  of  Marque  loi 

on  three  legs  for  fully  five  minutes.  "  Come 
along,  Sahib,"  said  the  mahout.  "  I  will 
show  this  mother  of  bastards  who  is  the  driver. 
Fat  daughter  of  the  Devil,  sit  down.  You 
would  eat  thatch,  would  you?  How  does  the 
iron  taste.'"'  And  he  gave  Gerowlia  a  head- 
ache, which  affected  her  temper  all  through 
the  afternoon.  She  set  off,  across  the  railway 
line  which  runs  below  the  rock  of  Chitor,  into 
broken  ground  cut  up  with  nullahs  and  cov- 
ered with  low  scrub,  over  which  it  would  have 
been  difficult  to  have  taken  a  sure-footed 
horse,  so  fragmentary  and  disconnected  was 
its  nature. 


102  Letters  of  Marque 


XI. 


The  Gamberi  River — clear  as  a  trout-stream 
— runs  through  the  waste  round  Chitor,  and 
is  spanned  by  an  old  bridge,  very  solid  and 
massive,  said  to  have  been  built  before  the 
sack  of  Ala-ud-din.  The  bridge  is  in  the 
middle  of  the  stream — the  floods  have  raced 
round  either  end  of  it — and  is  reached  by  a 
steeply  sloping  stone  causeway.  From  the 
bridge  to  the  new  town  of  Chitor,  which  lies 
at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  runs  a  straight  and  well- 
kept  road,  flanked  on  either  side  by  the  scat- 
tered remnants  of  old  houses,  and,  here  and 
there,  fallen  temples.  The  road,  like  the 
bridge,  is  no  new  thing,  and  is  wide  enough 
for  twenty  horsemen  to  ride  abreast. 

New  Chitor  is  a  very  dirty,  and  apparently 
thriving,  little  town,  full  of  grain-merchants 
and  sellers  of  arms.  The  ways  are  barely 
wide  enough  for  the  elephant  of  dignity  and 
the  little  brown  babies  of  impudence.  The 
Englishman  went  through,  always  on  a  slope 
painfully  accentuated  by  Gerowlia  who,  with 
all  possible  respect  to  her  years,  must  have 
been  a  baggage-animal,  and  no  true  Sahib's 
mount.  Let  the  local  Baedeker  speak  for  a 
moment :  "  The  ascent  to  Chitor,  which  be- 
gins from  within  the  southeast  angle  of  the 
town,  is  nearly  a  mile  to  the  upper  gate,  with 


Letters  of  Marque  103 

a  slope  of  about  i  in  15.  There  are  two  zig- 
zag bends,  and  on  the  three  portions  thus 
formed,  are  seven  gates,  of  which  one,  how- 
ever, has  only  the  basement  left."  This  is 
the  language  of  fact,  which,  very  properly, 
leaves  out  of  all  account  the  Genius  of  the 
Place  who  sits  at  the  gate  nearest  the  new  city 
and  is  with  the  sightseer  throughout.  The 
first  impression  of  repulsion  and  awe  is  given 
by  a  fragment  of  tumbled  sculpture  close  to  a 
red  daubed  lingavi^  near  the  Padal  Pol  or 
lowest  gate.  It  is  a  piece  of  frieze,  and  the 
figures  of  the  men  are  worn  nearly  smooth  by 
time.  What  is  visible  is  finely  and  frankly 
obscene  to  an  English  mind. 

The  road  is  protected  on  the  cliff  side  by  a 
thick  stone  wall,  loopholed,  for  musketry,  one 
aperture  to  every  two  feet,  between  fifteen  and 
twenty  feet  high.  This  wall  is  being  repaired 
throughout  its  length  by  the  Maharana  of 
Udaipur.  On  the  hillside,  among  the  boulders, 
loose  stones,  and  dhak-scriib,  lies  stone  wreck- 
age that  must  have  come  down  from  the  brown 
bastions  above. 

As  Gerowlia  labored  up  the  stone-shod 
slope,  the  Englishman  wondered  how  much 
life  had  flowed  down  this  sluice  of  battles,  and 
been  lost  at  the  Padal  Pol — the  last  and  lowest 
gate — where,  in  the  old  days  the  besieging 
armies  put  their  best  and  bravest  battalions. 
Once  at  the  head  of  the  lower  slope,  there  is 
a  clear  rundown  of  a  thousand  yards  wath  no 
chance  of  turning  aside  either  to  the  right  or 


104  Letters  of  Marque 

left.  Even  as  he  wondered,  he  was  brought 
abreast  of  two  stone  chhatris,  each  carrying 
a  red  daubed  stone.  They  were  the  graves 
of  two  very  brave  men,  Jeenial  of  Bedmore, 
and  Kalla,who  fell  in  Akbar'ssack  fighting  like 
Rajputs.  Read  the  story  of  their  deaths,  and 
learn  what  manner  of  warriors  they  were.  Their 
graves  were  all  that  spoke  openly  of  the  hun- 
dreds of  struggles  on  the  lower  slope  where 
the  fight  was  always  fiercest. 

At  last,  after  half  an  hour's  climb,  the  main 
gate,  the  Ram  Pol,  was  gained,  and  the  Eng- 
lishman passed  into  the  City  of  Chitor  and — 
then  and  there  formed  a  resolution,  since 
broken,  not  to  write  one  word  about  it  for 
fear  that  he  should  be  set  down  as  a  babbling 
and  a  gushing  enthusiast.  Objects  of  arch- 
aeological interest  are  duly  described  in  an  ad- 
mirable little  book  of  Chitor  which,  after  one 
look,  the  Englishman  abandoned.  One  cannot 
"do"  Chitor  with  a  guide-book.  The  Chap- 
Iain  of  the  English  jNIission  to  Jehangir  said 
the  best  that  was  to  be  said,  when  he  described 
the  place  three  hundred  years  ago,  writing 
quaintly  :  "  Chitor,  an  ancient  great  kindgom, 
the  chief  city  so  called  which  standeth  on  a 
mighty  high  hill,  flat  on  the  top,  walled  about 
at  the  least  ten  English  miles.  There  appear 
to  this  day  above  a  hundred  churches  ruined 
and  divers  fair  palaces  which  are  lodged  in 
like  manner  among  their  ruins,  as  many  Eng- 
lishmen by  the  observation  have  guessed.  Its 
chief  inhabitants  to-day  are  Zum  and  Ohim, 


Letters  of  Marque  105 

birds  and  wild  beasts,  but  the  stately  ruins 
thereof  give  a  shadow  of  its  beauty  while  it 
flourished  in  its  pride."  Gerowlia  struck  into 
a  narrow  pathway,  forcing  herself  through 
garden-trees  and  disturbing  the  peacocks.  An 
evil  guide-man  on  the  ground  waved  his  hand, 
and  began  to  speak  ;  but  was  silenced.  The 
death  of  Amber  was  as  nothing  to  the  death  of 
Chitor — a  body  whence  the  life  had  been 
driven  by  riot  and  the  sword.  Men  had  par- 
celled the  gardens  of  her  palaces  and  the 
courtyards  of  her  temples  into  fields  ;  and 
cattle  grazed  among  the  remnants  of  the  shat- 
tered tombs.  But  over  all — over  rent  and 
bastion,  split  temple  wall,  pierced  roof,  and 
prone  pillar — lay  the  "  shadow  of  its  beauty 
while  it  flourished  in  its  pride."  The  English- 
man walked  into  a  stately  palace  of  many 
rooms  where  the  sunlight  streamed  in  through 
wall  and  roof  and  up  crazy  stone  stairways, 
held  together,  it  seemed,  by  the  marauding 
trees.  In  one  bastion,  a  wind-sown  peepul 
had  wrenched  a  thick  slab  clear  of  the  wall,  but 
held  it  tight  pressed  in  a  crook  of  a  branch,  as 
a  man  holds  down  a  fallen  enemy  under  his 
elbow,  shoulder,  and  forearm.  In  another 
place,  a  strange,  uncanny  wind  sprung  from 
nowhere,  was  singing  all  alone  among  the 
pillarsof  what  may  have  been  a  Hall  of  Au- 
dience. The  Englishman  wandered  so  far  in 
one  palace  that  he  came  to  an  almost  black- 
dark  room,  high  up  in  a  wall,  and  said  proudly 
to  himself  :   "  I  must  be  the  first  man  who  has 


io6  Letters  of  Marque 

been  here  ;  "  meaning  no  harm  or  insult  to  any 
one.  But  he  tripped  and  fell,  and  as  he  put 
out  his  hands,  he  felt  that  the  stairs  had  been 
worn  hollow  and  smooth  by  the  tread  of 
innumerable  naked  feet.  Then  he  was  afraid, 
and  came  away  very  quickly,  stepping  deli- 
cately over  fallen  friezes  and  bits  of  sculptured 
men,  so  as  not  to  offend  the  Dead  ;  and  was 
mightily  relieved  when  he  recovered  his  ele- 
phant and  allowed  the  guide  to  take  him  to 
Kumbha  Rana's  Tower  of  Victory. 

This  stands,  like  all  things  in  Chitor, 
among  ruins,  but  time  and  the  other  enemies 
have  been  good  to  it.  It  is  a  Jain  edifice,  nine 
stories  high,  crowned  atop — was  this  designed 
insult  or  undesigned  repair .'' — with  a  purely 
Mahometan  dome,  where  the  pigeons  and  the 
bats  live.  Excepting  this  blemish,  the  Tower 
of  Victory  is  nearly  as  fair  as  when  it  left  the 
hands  of  the  builder  whose  name  has  not 
been  handed  down  to  us.  It  is  to  be  observed 
here  that  the  first,  or  more  ruined.  Tower 
of  Victory,  built  in  AUuji's  days,  when  Chitor 
was  comparatively  young,  was  raised  by  some 
pious  Jain  as  proof  of  conquest  over  things 
spiritual.  The  second  tower  is  more  worldly 
in  intent. 

Those  w^ho  care  to  look,  may  find  elsewhere 
a  definition  of  its  architecture  and  its  more 
striking  peculiarities.  It  was  in  kind,  but  not 
in  degree,  like  the  Jugdesh  Temple  at  Udaipur, 
and,  as  it  exceeded  it  in  magnificence,  so  its 
effect  upon  the  mind  was  more  intense.     The 


Letters  of  Marque  107 

confusing  intricacy  of  the  figures  with  which  it 
was  wreathed  from  top  to  bottom,  the  recur- 
rence of  the  one  calm  face,  the  God  en- 
throned, holding  the  Wheel  of  the  Law,  and 
the  appalling  lavishness  of  decoration,  all 
worked  toward  the  instilment  of  fear  and 
aversion. 

Surely  this  must  have  been  one  of  the  objects 
of  the  architect.  The  tower,  in  the  arrange- 
ment of  its  stairways,  is  like  the  interior  of  a 
Chinese  carved  ivory  puzzle-ball.  The  idea 
given  is  that,  even  while  you  are  ascending,  you 
are  wrapping  yourself  deeper  and  deeper  in  the 
tangle  of  a  mighty  maze.  Add  to  this  the  half- 
light,  the  thronging  armies  of  sculptured  figures, 
the  mad  profusion  of  design  splashed  as  impar- 
tially upon  the  undersides  of  the  stone  window- 
slabs  as  upon  the  door-beam  of  the  thres- 
hold— add,  most  abhorrent  of  all,  the  slippery 
sliminess  of  the  walls,  always  worn  smooth  by 
naked  men,  and  you  will  understand  that  the 
tower  is  not  a  soothing  place  to  visit.  The 
Englishman  fancied  presumptuously,  that  he 
had,  in  a  way,  grasped  the  builder's  idea  ;  and 
when  he  came  to  the  top  story  and  sat  among 
the  pigeons  his  theory  was  this  :  To  attain 
power,  wrote  the  builder  of  old,  in  sentences  of 
fine  stone,  it  is  necessary  to  pass  through  all 
sorts  of  close-packed  horrors,  treacheries, 
battles,  and  insults,  in  darkness  and  without 
knowledge  whether  the  road  leads  upward  or 
into  a  hopeless  cul-de-sac.  Kumbha  Ran  a 
must  many  times  have  climbed  to  the  top  story, 


io8  Letters  of  Marque 

and  looked  out  toward  the  uplands  of  Alalwa 
on  the  one  side  and  his  own  great  Mewar  on 
the  other,  in  the  days  when  all  the  rock 
hummed  with  life  and  the  clatter  of  hooves 
upon  the  stony  ways,  and  Mahmoudof  Malwa 
was  safe  in  hold.  How  he  must  have  swelled 
with  pride — fine  insolent  pride  of  life  and  rule 
and  power — power  not  only  to  break  things 
but  to  compel  such  builders  as  those  who  piled 
the  tower  to  his  royal  will !  There  was  no 
decoration  in  the  top  story  to  bewilder  or 
amaze — nothing  but  well-grooved  stone-slabs, 
and  a  boundless  view  fit  for  kings  who  traced 
their  ancestry — 

"  From  times  when  forth  from  the  sunUght,  the  first  of 
our  Kings  came  down, 
And    had  the    earth  for    his  footstool,  and  wore  the 
stars  for  his  crown." 

The  builder  had  left  no  mark  behind  him — 
not  even  a  mark  on  the  threshold  of  the  door, 
or  a  sign  in  the  head  of  the  topmost  step. 
The  Englishman  looked  in  both  places,  be- 
lieving that  those  were  the  places  generally 
chosen  for  mark-cutting.  So  he  sat  and 
meditated  on  the  beauties  of  kingship  and  the 
unholiness  of  Hindu  art,  and  what  power  a 
shadowland  of  lewd  monstrosities  had  upon 
those  who  believed  in  it,  and  what  Lord  Duf- 
ferin,  w^ho  is  the  nearest  approach  to  a  king  in 
this  India,  must  have  thought  when  aide-de- 
camps clanked  after  him  up  the  narrow  steps. 
But  the  day  was  wearing,  and  he  came  down — 
in  both  senses — and,  in  his  descent,  the  carven 


Letters  of  Marque  109 

things  on  every  side  of  the  tower,  and  above 
and  below,  once  more  took  hold  of  and  per- 
verted his  fancy,  so  that  he  arrived  at  the 
bottom  in  a  frame  of  mind  eminently  fitted 
for  a  descent  into  the  Gau-Mukh,  which  is 
nothing-  more  terrible  than  a  little  spring, 
falling  into  a  reservoir,  in  the  side  of  the  hill. 
He  stumbled  across  more  ruins  and  passed 
between  tombs  of  dead  Ranis,  till  he  came  to 
a  flight  of  steps,  built  out  and  cut  out  from 
rock,  going  down  as  far  as  he  could  see  into 
a  growth  of  trees  on  a  terrace  below  him. 
The  stone  of  the  steps  had  been  worn  and 
polished  by  the  terrible  naked  feet  till  it 
showed  its  markings  clearly  as  agate ;  and 
where  the  steps  ended  in  a  rock-slope,  there 
was  a  visible  glair,  a  great  snail-track,  upon 
the  rocks.  It  was  hard  to  keep  safe  footing 
upon  the  sliminess.  The  air  was  thick  with 
the  sick  smell  of  stale  incense,  and  grains  of 
rice  were  scattered  upon  the  steps.  But  there 
was  no  one  to  be  seen.  Now  this  in  itself 
was  not  specially  alarming  ;  but  the  Genius  of 
the  Place  must  be  responsible  for  making  it 
so.  The  Englishman  slipped  and  bumped  on 
the  rocks,  and  arrived,  more  suddenly  than  he 
desired,  upon  the  edge  of  a  dull  blue  tank, 
sunk  between  walls  of  timeless  masonry.  In 
a  slabbed-in  recess,  water  was  pouring  through 
a  shapeless  stone  gargoyle,  into  a  trough  ; 
which  trough  again  dripped  into  the  tank. 
Almost  under  the  little  trickle  of  water,  was 
the  loathsome  Emblem  of  Creation,  and  there 


no  Letters  ot  Marque 

were  flowers  and  rice  around  it.  Water  was 
trickling  from  a  score  of  places  in  the  cut  face 
of  the  hill  ;  oozing  between  the  edges  of  the 
steps  and  welling  up  between  the  stone  slabs 
of  the  terrace.  Trees  sprouted  in  the  sides 
of  the  tank  and  hid  its  surroundings.  It 
seemed  as  though  the  descent  had  led  the 
Englishman,  firstly,  two  thousand  years  away 
from  his  own  century,  and  secondly,  into  a 
trap,  and  that  he  would  fall  off  the  polished 
stones  into  the  stinking  tank,  or  that  the  Gau- 
Mukh  would  continue  to  pour  water  until  the 
tank  rose  up  and  swamped  him,  or  that  some 
of  the  stone  slabs  would  fall  forward  and 
crush  him  flat. 

Then  he  was  conscious  of  remembering, 
with  peculiar  and  unnecessary  distinctness, 
that,  from  the  Gau-Mukh,  a  passage  led  to  the 
subterranean  chambers  in  which  the  fair  Pud- 
mini  and  her  handmaids  had  slain  themselves. 
And,  that  Tod  had  written  and  the  Station- 
master  at  Chitor  had  said,  that  some  sort  of 
devil,  or  ghoul,  or  Something,  stood  at  the 
entrance  of  that  approach.  All  of  which  was 
a  nightmare  bred  in  full  day  and  folly  to  boot ; 
but  it  was  the  fault  of  the  Genius  of  the  Place, 
who  made  the  Englishman  feel  that  he  had 
done  a  great  wrong  in  trespassing  into  the 
very  heart  and  soul  of  all  Chitor.  And,  be- 
hind him,  the  Gau-Mukh  guggled  and  choked 
like  a  man  in  his  death-throe.  The  English- 
man endured  as  long  as  he  could— about  two 
minutes.     Then  it  came   upon   him   that   he 


Letters  of  Marque  in 

must  go  quickly  out  of  this  place  of  years  and 
blood — must  get  back  to  the  afternoon  sun- 
shine, and  Gerowlia,  and  the  dak-bungalow 
with  the  French  bedstead.  He  desired  no 
archaeological  information,  he  wished  to  take 
no  notes,  and,  above  all,  he  did  not  care  to 
look  behind  him,  where  stood  the  reminder 
that  he  was  no  better  than  the  beasts  that 
perish.  But  he  had  to  cross  the  smooth,  worn 
rocks,  and  he  felt  their  sliminess  through  his 
bootsoles.  It  was  as  though  he  were  treading 
on  the  soft,  oiled  skin  of  a  Hindu.  As  soon 
as  the  steps  gave  refuge,  he  floundered  up 
them,  and  so  came  out  of  the  Gau-Mukh,  be- 
dewed with  that  perspiration  which  follows 
alike  on  honest  toil  or — childish  fear. 

"  This,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  is  absurd  !  " 
and  sat  down  on  the  fallen  top  of  a  temple  to 
review  the  situation.  But  the  Gau-Mukh  had 
disappeared.  He  could  see  the  dip  in  the 
ground  and  the  beginning  of  the  steps,  but 
nothing  more. 

Perhaps  it  was  absurd.  It  undoubtedly 
appeared  so,  later.  Yet  there  was  something 
uncanny  about  it  all.  It  was  not  exactly  a 
feeling  of  danger  or  pain,  but  an  apprehension 
of  great  evil. 

In  defense,  it  may  be  urged  that  there  is 
moral,  just  as  much  as  there  is  mine,  choke- 
damp.  If  you  get  into  a  place  laden  with  the 
latter  you  die,  and  if  into  the  home  of  the 
former  you  .  .  .  behave  unwisely,  as  con- 
stitution   and    temperament  prompt.     If  any 


112  Letters  of  Marque 

man  doubt  this,  let  him  sit  for  two  hours  in  a 
hot  sun  on  an  elephant,  stay  half  an  hour  in 
the  Tower  of  Victory,  and  then  go  down  into 
the  Gau-Mukh,  which,  it  must  never  be  for- 
gotten, is  merely  a  set  of  springs  "  three  or 
four  in  number,  issuing  from  the  cliff  face  at 
cow-mouth  carvings,  now  mutilated.  The 
water,  evidently  percolating  from  the  Hathi 
Kund  above,  falls  first  in  an  old  pillared  hall 
and  thence  into  the  masonry  reservoir  below, 
eventually,  when  abundant  enough,  supplying 
a  little  waterfall  lower  down. "  That,  Gentle- 
men and  Ladies,  on  the  honor  of  one  who  has 
been  frightened  of  the  dark  in  broad  daylight, 
is  the  Gau-Mukh,  as  though  photographed. 

The  Englishman  regained  Gerowlia  and  de- 
manded to  be  taken  away,  but  Gerowlia's 
driver  went  forward  instead  and  showed  him 
a  new  Mahal  just  built  by  the  present  Maha- 
rana.  Carriage  drives,  however,  do  not  con- 
sort well  with  Chitor  and  the  "shadow  of  her 
ancient  beauty."  The  return  journey,  past 
temple  after  temple  and  palace  upon  palace, 
began  in  the  failing  light,  and  Gerowlia  was 
still  blundering  up  and  down  narrow  by- 
paths— for  she  possessed  all  an  old  woman's 
delusion  as  to  the  slimness  of  her  waist  when 
the  twilight  fell,  and  the  smoke  from  the  town 
below  began  to  creep  up  the  brown  flanks  of 
Chitor,  and  the  jackals  howled.  Then  the 
sense  of  desolation,  which  had  been  strong 
enough  in  all  conscience  in  the  sunshine,  be- 
gan to  grow  and  grow. 


Letters  of  Marque  113 

Near  the  Ram  Pol  there  was  some  semblance 
of  a  town  with  living  people  in  it,  and  a  priest 
sat  in  the  middle  of  the  road  and  howled  aloud 
upon  his  gods,  until  a  little  boy  came  and 
laughed  in  his  face  and  he  went  away  grum- 
bling. This  touch  was  deeply  refreshing ;  in 
the  contemplation  of  it,  the  Englishman  clean 
forgot  that  he  had  overlooked  the  gathering 
in  of  materials  for  an  elaborate  statistical,  his- 
torical, geographical  account  of  Chitor.  All 
that  remained  to  him  was  a  shuddering  rem- 
iniscence of  the  Gau-Mukh  and  two  lines  of 
the  "  Holy  Grail," 

"  And  up  into  the  sounding  halls  he  passed, 
But  nothing  in  the  sounding  halls  he  saw." 

Post  Scrlptum. — There  was  something  very 
uncanny  about  the  Genius  of  the  Place.  He 
dragged  an  ease-loving  egotist  out  of  the 
French  bedstead  with  the  gilt  knobs  at  head 
and  foot,  into  a  more  than  usually  big  folly — 
nothing  less  than  a  seeing  of  Chitor  by  moon- 
light. There  was  no  possibility  of  getting 
Gerowlia  out  of  her  bed,  and  a  mistrust  of  the 
Maharana's  soldiery  who  in  the  daytime 
guarded  the  gates,  prompted  the  Englishman 
to  avoid  the  public  way,  and  scramble  straight 
up  the  hillside,  along  an  attempt  at  a  path 
which  he  had  noted  from  Gerowlia's  back. 
There  was  no  one  to  interfere,  and  nothing 
but  an  infinity  of  pestilent  nullahs  and  loose 
stones  to  check.     Owls  came  out  and  hooted 


114  Letters  of  Marque 

at  him,  and  animals  ran  about  in  the  dark  and 
made  uncouth  noises.  It  was  an  idiotic  jour- 
ney, and  it  ended — Oh,  horror  !  in  that  un- 
speakable Gau-Mukh — this  time  entered  from 
the  opposite  or  brushwooded  side,  as  far  as 
could  be  made  out  in  the  dusk  and  from  the 
chuckle  of  the  water  which,  by  night,  was 
peculiarly  malevolent. 

Escaping  from  this  place,  crab-fashion,  the 
Englishman  crawled  into  Chitor  and  sat  upon 
a  fiat  tomb  till  the  moon,  a  very  inferior  and 
second-hand  one,  rose,  and  turned  the  city  of 
the  dead  into  a  city  of  scurrying  ghouls — in 
sobriety,  jackals.  The  ruins  took  strange 
shapes  and  shifted  in  the  half  light  and  cast 
objectionable  shadows. 

It  was  easy  enough  to  fill  the  rock  with  the 
people  of  old  times,  and  a  very  beautiful 
account  of  Chitor  restored,  made  out  by  the 
help  of  Tod,  and  bristling  with  the  names  of 
the  illustrious  dead,  would  undoubtedly  have 
been  written,  had  not  a  woman,  a  living 
breathing  woman,  stolen  out  of  a  temple — 
what  was  she  doing  in  that  galley? — and 
screamed  in  piercing  and  public-spirited  fash- 
ion. The  Englishman  got  off  the  tomb  and 
departed  rather  more  noisily  than  a  jackal ; 
feeling  for  the  moment  that  he  was  not  much 
better.  Somebody  opened  a  door  with  a 
crash,  and  a  man  cried  out :  "  Who  is  there  ?  '* 
But  the  cause  of  the  disturbance  was,  for  his 
sins,  being  most  horribly  scratched  by  some 
thorny  scrub  over  the  edge  of  the  hill — there 


Letters  of  Marque  115 

are  no  bastions  worth  speaking  of  near  the 
Gau-Mukh — and  the  rest  was  partly  rolling, 
partly  scrambling,  and  mainly  bad  language. 

When  you  are  too  lucky  sacrifice  something, 
a  beloved  pipe  for  choice,  to  Ganesh.  The 
Englishman  has  seen  Chitor  by  moonlight — 
not  the  best  moonlight  truly,  but  the  watery 
glare  of  a  nearly  spent  moon — and  his  sacri- 
fice to  Luck  is  this.  He  will  never  try  to 
describe  what  he  has  seen — but  will  keep  it 
as  a  love-letter,  a  thing  for  one  pair  of  eyes 
only — a  memory  that  few  men  to-day  can  be 
sharers  in.  And  does  he,  through  this  fiction, 
evade  insulting,  by  pen  and  ink,  a  scene  as 
lovely,  wild,  and  unmatchable  as  any  that 
mortal  eyes  have  been  privileged  to  rest 
upon  ? 

An  intelligent  and  discriminating  public  are 
perfectly  at  liberty  to  form  their  own  opinions. 


ii6  Letters  of  Marque 


XII. 

Come  away  from  the  monstrous  gloom  of 
Chitor  and  escape  northwards.  The  place  is 
unclean  and  terrifying.  Let  us  catch  To-day 
by  both  hands  and  return  to  the  Station- 
master  who  is  also  booking- parcels  and  tele- 
graph-clerk, and  who  never  seems  to  go  to 
bed — and  to  the  comfortably  wadded  bunks 
of  the  Rajputana-Malwa  line. 

While  the  train  is  running,  be  pleased  to 
listen  to  the  perfectly  true  story  of  the  bJui^iia 
of  Jhaswara,  which  is  a  story  the  sequel 
whereof  has  yet  to  be  written.  Once  upon  a 
time,  a  Rajput  landholder,  a  hhumia,  and  a 
Mahometan  Jaghirdar,  were  next-door  neigh- 
bors in  Ajmir  territory.  They  hated  each 
other  thoroughly  for  many  reasons,  all  con- 
nected with  land  ;  and  X\\^  jaghirdar  was  the 
bigger  man  of  the  two.  In  those  days,  it  was 
the  law  that  the  victims  of  robbery  or  dacoity 
should  be  reimbursed  by  the  owner  of  the 
lands  on  which  the  affair  had  taken  place. 
The  ordinance  is  now  swept  away  as  imprac- 
ticable. There  w^as  a  highway  robbery  on 
the  hhimiia's  holding  ;  and  he  vowed  that  it 
had  been  "  put  up  "  by  the  Mahometan  who, 
he  said,  was  an  Ahab.  The  reive-gelt  payable 
nearly  ruined  the  Rajput,  and  he,  laboring 
under  a  galling  grievance  or  a  groundless  sus- 


Letters  of  Marque  117 

picion,  fired  thejaghirdar's  crops,  was  detected 
and  brought  up  before  the  English  Judge  who 
gave  him  four  years'  imprisonment.  To  the 
sentence  was  appended  a  recommendation 
that,  on  release,  the  Rajput  should  be  put  on 
heavy  securities  for  good  behavior.  "  Other- 
wise," wrote  the  Judge,  who  seems  to  have 
known  the  people  he  was  dealing  with,  "  he 
will  certainly  kill  \.hQ  Jaghirdar."  Four  years 
passed,  and  the  jaghirdar  obtamed  wealth 
and  consideration,  and  was  made,  let  us  say, 
a  Khan  Bahadur,  and  an  Honorary  Magis- 
trate ;  but  the  bhumia  remained  in  jail  and 
thought  over  the  highway  robbery.  When 
the  day  of  release  came,  a  new  Judge  hunted 
up  his  predecessor's  finding  and  recommen- 
dation, and  would  have  put  the  hhumia  on 
security.  "  Sahib,"  said  the  bhtcmia,  "  I  have 
no  people.  I  have  been  in  jail.  What  am  I 
now  ?  And  who  will  find  security  for  me  ? 
If  you  will  send  me  back  to  jail  again  I  can 
do  nothing,  and  I  have  no  friends."  So  they 
released  him,  and  he  went  away  into  an  out- 
lying village  and  borrowed  a  sword  from  one 
house,  and  had  it  sharpened  in  another,  for 
love.  Two  days  later  fell  the  birthday  of  the 
Khan  Bahadur  and  the  Honorary  Magistrate, 
and  his  friends  and  servants  and  dependants 
made  a  little  levee  and  did  him  honor  after 
the  native  custom.  The  bhumia  also  attended 
the  levee,  but  no  one  knew  him,  and  he  was 
stopped  at  the  door  of  the  courtyard  by  the 
servant.     "  Say  that   the  bhumia   of  Jhaswara 


ii8  Letters  of  Marque 

has  come  to  pay  his  salaams,"  said  he.  They 
let  him  in,  and  in  the  heart  of  Ajmir  City,  in 
broad  daylight,  and  before  all  the  jaghirdar^s 
household,  he  smote  off  his  enemy's  head  so 
that  it  rolled  upon  the  ground.  Then  he  fled, 
and  though  they  raised  the  countryside  against 
him  he  was  never  caught,  and  went  into 
Bikanir. 

Five  years  later,  word  came  to  Ajmir  that 
Chimbo  Singh,  the  bhurnia  of  Jhaswara,  had 
taken  service  under  the  Thakur  Sahib  of  Pal- 
itana.  The  case  was  an  old  one,  and  the 
chances  of  identification  misty,  but  the  sus- 
pected was  caught  and  brought  in,  and  one 
of  the  leading  native  barristers  of  the  Bombay 
Bar  was  retained  to  defend  him.  He  said 
nothing  and  continued  to  say  nothing,  and 
the  case  fell  through.  He  is  believed  to  be 
*'  wanted  "  now  for  a  fresh  murder  committed 
within  the  last  few  months,  out  Bikanir  way. 

And  now  that  the  train  has  reached  Ajmir, 
the  Crewe  of  Rajputana,  whither  shall  a  tramp 
turn  his  feet  ?  The  Englishman,  set  his  stick 
on  end,  and  it  fell  with  its  point  Northwest  as 
nearly  as  might  be.  This  being  translated, 
meant  Jodhpur,  which  is  the  city  of  the 
Houyhnhnms.  If  you  would  enjoy  Jodhpur 
thoroughly,  quit  at  Ajmir  the  decent  conven- 
tionalities of  "  station  "  life,  and  make  it  your 
business  to  move  among  gentlemen — gentle- 
men in  the  Ordnance  or  the  Commissariat,  or 
better  still,  gentlemen  on  the  Railway.  At 
Ajmir,  gentlemen  will   tell  you  what  manner 


Letters  of  Marque  119 

of  place  Jodhpur  is,  and  their  accounts,  though 
flavored  with  oaths,  are  amusing.  In  their 
eyes  the  desert  that  rings  the  city  has  no 
charms,  and  they  discuss  affairs  of  the  State, 
as  they  understand  them,  in  a  manner  that 
would  curl  the  hair  on  a  Political's  august 
head.  Jodhpur  has  been,  but  things  are 
rather  better  now,  a  much-favored  camping 
ground  for  the  light-cavalry  of  the  Road — the 
loafers  with  a  certain  amount  of  brain  and 
great  assurance.  The  explanation  is  simple. 
There  are  more  than  four  hundred  horses  in 
His  Highness's  city  stables  alone  ;  and  where 
the  Houyhnhnm  is,  there  also  will  be  the 
Yahoo.      This  is  sad  but  true. 

Besides  the  Uhlans  who  come  and  go  on 
Heaven  knows  what  mysterious  errands,  there 
are  bagmen  traveling  for  the  big  English 
firms.  Jodhpur  is  a  good  customer,  and  pur- 
chases all  sorts  of  things,  more  or  less  useful, 
for  the  State  or  its  friends.  These  are  the 
gentlemen  to  know,  if  you  would  understand 
something  of  matters  which  are  not  written  in 
reports. 

The  Englishman  took  a  train  from  Ajmir  to 
Marwar  Junction,  which  is  on  the  road  to 
Mount  Abu,  westward  from  Ajmir,  and  at  five 
in  the  morning,  under  pale  moonlight,  was 
uncarted  at  the  beginning  of  the  Jodhpur 
State  Railway — one  of  the  quaintest  little  lines 
that  ever  ran  a  locomotive.  It  is  the  Maha- 
raja's very  own,  and  pays  about  ten  per  cent ; 
but  its  quaintness  does  not  lie  in  these  things. 


120  Letters  of  Marque 

It  is  worked  with  rude  economy,  and  started 
life  by  singularly  and  completely  falsifying 
the  Government  estimates  for  its  construction. 
An  intelligent  bureau  asserted  that  it  could 
not  be  laid  down  for  less  than — but  the  error 
shall  be  glossed  over.  It  was  laid  down  for  a 
little  more  than  seventeen  thousand  rupees  a 
mile,  with  the  help  of  second-hand  rails  and 
sleepers;  and  it  is  currently  asserted  that  the 
Station-masters  are  flagmen,  pointsmen,  ticket- 
collectors,  and  everything  else,  except  plat- 
forms, and  lamp-rooms.  As  only  two  trains 
are  run  in  the  twenty-four  hours,  this  economy 
of  staff  does  not  matter.  The  State  line,  with 
the  comparatively  new  branch  to  the  Pachpa- 
dra  salt-pits,  pays  handsomely  and  is  exactly 
suited  to  the  needs  of  its  users.  True,  there 
is  a  certain  haziness  as  to  the  hour  of  starting, 
but  this  allows  laggards  more  time,  and  fills 
the  packed  carriages  to  overflowing. 

From  Marwar  Junction  to  Jodhpur,  the 
train  leaves  the  Aravalis  and  goes  northwards 
into  the  region  of  death  that  lies  beyond  the 
Luni  River.  Sand,  ak  bushes,  and  sand-hills, 
varied  with  occasional  patches  of  unthrifty 
cultivation,  make  up  the  scenery.  Rain  has 
been  very  scarce  in  Marwar  this  year,  and  the 
country,  consequently,  shows  at  its  worst,  for 
almost  every  square  mile  of  a  kingdom  nearly 
as  large  as  Scotland  is  dependent  on  the  sky 
for  its  crops.  In  a  good  season,  a  large  vil- 
lage can  pay  from  seven  to  nine  thousand 
rupees  revenue  without  blenching.     In  a  bad 


Letters  of  Marque  121 

one,  "  all  the  king's  horses  and  all  the  king's 
men "  may  think  themselves  lucky  if  they 
raise  fifteen  rupees  from  the  same  place.  The 
fluctuation  is  startling. 

From  a  countryside,  which  to  the  uninitiated 
seems  about  as  valuable  as  a  stretch  of  West 
African  beach,  the  State  gets  a  revenue  of 
nearly  forty  lakhs  ;  and  men  who  know  the 
country  vow  that  it  has  not  been  one  tithe  ex- 
ploited, and  that  there  is  more  to  be  made 
from  salt  marble  and — curious  thing  in  this 
wilderness — good  forest  conservancy,  than  an 
open-handed  Durbar  dreams  of.  An  amiable 
weakness  for  unthinkingly  giving  away  villages 
where  ready  cash  failed,  has  somewhat  ham- 
pered the  revenue  in  past  years ;  but  now — 
and  for  this  the  Maharaja  deserves  great 
credit — Jodhpur  has  a  large  and  genuine  sur- 
plus and  a  very  compact  little  scheme  of  rail- 
way extension.  Before  turning  to  a  consid- 
eration of  the  City  of  Jodhpur,  hear  a  true 
story  in  connection  with  the  Hyderabad- 
Pachpadra  project  which  those  interested  in 
the  scheme  may  lay  to  heart. 

His  State  line,  his  *'  ownest  own,"  as  has 
been  said,  very  much  delighted  the  Maharaja 
who,  in  one  or  two  points,  is  not  unlike  Sir 
Theodore  Hope  of  sainted  memory.  Pleased 
with  the  toy,  he  said  effusively,  in  words 
which  may  or  may  not  have  reached  the  ears 
of  the  Hyderabad-Pachpadra  people  :  "  This 
is  a  good  business.  If  the  Government  will 
give   me  independent  jurisdiction,  I'll  make 


122  Letters  of  Marque 

and  open  the  line  straight  away  from  Pach- 
padra  to  the  end  of  my  dominions,  i.  e.,  all 
but  to  Hyderabad." 

Then  "  up  and  spake  an  elder  knight,  sat 
at  the  King's  right  knee,"  who  knew  some- 
thing about  the  railway  map  of  India  and  the 
Controlling  Power  of  strategical  lines  :  "  Ma- 
haraja Sahib — here  is  the  Indus  Valley  State 
line  and  here  is  the  Bombay-Baroda  line. 
Where  would  yon  be  ?  "  "  By  Jove,"  quoth 
the  Maharaja,  though  he  swore  by  quite  an- 
other god  :  "  I  see  1  "  and  thus  he  abandoned 
the  idea  of  a  Hyderabad  line,  and  turned  his 
attention  to  an  extension  to  Nagore,  with  a 
branch  to  the  Makrana  marble  quarries  which 
are  close  to  the  Sambhar  salt  lake  near  Jeypore. 
And,  in  the  fulness  of  time,  that  extension 
will  be  made  and  perhaps  extended  to  Baha- 
walpur. 

The  Englishman  came  to  Jodhpur  at  mid- 
day, in  a  hot,  fierce  sunshine  that  struck  back 
from  the  sands  and  the  ledges  of  red  rock,  as 
though  it  were  May  instead  of  December. 
The  line  scorned  such  a  thing  as  a  regular 
ordained  terminus.  The  single  track  gradu- 
ally melted  away  into  the  sands.  Close  to 
the  station  was  a  grim  stone  dak-bungalow, 
and  in  the  veranda  stood  a  brisk,  bag-and- 
flask-begirdled  individual,  cracking  his  joints 
with  excess  of  irritation. 

JVota  Bene. — When  one  is  on  the  road  it  is 
above  all  things  necessary  to  "  pass  the  time 
o'  day  "  to  fellow-wanderers.     Failure  to  com- 


Letters  of  Marque  123 

ply  with  this  law  implies  that  the  offender  is 
"  too  good  for  his  company  "  ;  and  this,  on 
the  Road,  is  the  unpardonable  sin.  The 
Englishman  "  passed  the  time  o'  day  "  in  due 
and  ample  form.  "Ha!  Ha!"  said  the 
gentleman  with  the  bag.  "  Isn't  this  a  sweet 
place  ?  There  ain't  no  ticca- ghai'ies^  and 
there  ain't  nothing  to  eat,  if  you  haven't 
brought  your  vittles,  an'  they  charge  you  three- 
eight  for  a  bottle  of  whisky.  Oh  !  it's  a  sweet 
place."  Here  he  skipped  about  the  veranda 
and  puffed.  Then  turning  upon  the  English- 
man, he  said  fiercely  :  "  What  have  you  come 
here  for  ?  "  Now  this  was  rude,  because  the 
ordinary  form  of  salutation  on  the  Road  is 
usually,  "  And  what  are  you  for  }  "  meaning 
*' what  house  do  you  represent?"  The  Eng- 
lishman answered  dolefully  that  he  was  travel- 
ing for  pleasure,  which  simple  explanation 
offended  the  little  man  with  the  courier-bag. 
He  snapped  his  joints  more  excruciatingly 
than  ever:  '^  For  pleasure?  My  God!  For 
pleasure  ?  Come  here  an'  wait  five  weeks  for 
your  money,  an',  mark  what  I'm  tellin'  you 
now,  you  don't  get  it  then  !  But  per'aps  your 
ideas  of  pleasure  is  different  from  most 
people's.  For  pleasure !  Yah  !  "  He 
skipped  across  the  sands  toward  the  station, 
for  he  was  going  back  with  the  down  train, 
and  vanished  in  a  whirlwind  of  luggage  and 
the  fluttering  of  female  skirts  :  in  Jodhpur  the 
women  are  baggage  coolies.  A  level,  drawl- 
ing voice  spoke  from  an  inner  room  :   "  'E's  a 


124  Letters  of  Marque 

bit  upset.  That's  what  'e  is  !  I  remember 
when  I  was  at  Gworlior " — the  rest  of  the 
story  was  lost,  and  the  Englishman  set  to 
work  to  discover  the  nakedness  of  the  dak- 
bungalow.  For  reasons  which  do  not  concern 
the  public,  it  is  made  as  bitterly  uncomfortable 
as  possible.  The  food  is  infamous,  and  the 
charges  seem  to  be  wilfully  pitched  about 
eighty  per  cent  above  the  tariff,  so  that  some 
portion  of  the  bill,  at  least,  may  be  paid  with- 
out bloodshed,  or  the  unseemly  defilement  of 
walls  with  the  contents  of  drinking  glasses. 
This  is  short-sighted  policy,  and  it  would, 
perhaps,  be  better  to  lower  the  prices  and 
hide  the  tariff,  and  put  a  guard  about  the 
house  to  prevent  jackal-molested  donkeys 
from  stampeding  into  the  verandas.  But 
these  be  details.  Jodhpur  dak-bungalow  is 
a  merry,  merry  place,  and  any  writer  in  search 
of  new  ground  to  locate  a  madly  improbable 
story  in,  could  not  do  better  than  study  it 
diligently.  In  front  lies  sand,  riddled  with 
innumerable  ant-holes,  and  beyond  the  sand 
the  red  sandstone  wall  of  the  city,  and  the 
Mahometan  burying-ground  that  fringes  it. 
Fragments  of  sandstone  set  on  end  mark  the 
resting  places  of  the  Faithful,  who  are  of  no 
great  account  here.  Above  everything,  a 
mark  for  miles  around,  towers  the  dun-red 
pile  of  the  Fort  which  is  also  a  Palace.  This 
is  set  upon  sandstone  rock  whose  sharper 
features  have  been  worn  smooth  by  the  wash 
of  the  windblown   sand.     It  is  as  monstrous 


Letters  of  Marque  125 

as  anything  in  Dore's  illustrations  of  the 
Cojites  Di'olatiques  and,  wherever  it  wanders, 
the  eye  comes  back  at  last  to  its  fantastic  bulk. 
There  is  no  greenery  on  the  rock,  nothing  but 
fierce  sunlight  or  black  shadow.  A  line  of 
red  hills  forms  the  background  of  the  city, 
and  this  is  as  bare  as  the  picked  bones  of 
camels  that  lie  bleaching  on  the  sand  below. 

Wherever  the  eye  falls,  it  sees  a  camel  or 
a  string  of  camels — lean,  racer-built  sowarri 
camels,  or  heavy,  black,  shag-haired  trading 
ships  bent  on  their  way  to  the  Railway  Station. 
Through  the  night  the  air  is  alive  with  the 
bubbling  and  howling  of  the  brutes,  who  as- 
suredly must  suffer  from  nightmare.  In  the 
morning  the  chorus  round  the  station  is  deaf- 
ening. 

Knowing  what  these  camels  meant,  but 
trusting  nevertheless  that  the  road  would  not 
be  very  bad,  the  Englishman  went  into  the 
city,  left  a  well-kunkered  road,  turned  through 
a  sand-worn,  red  sandstone  gate,  and  sank 
ankle-deep  in  fine  reddish  white  sand.  This 
was  the  main  thoroughfare  of  the  city.  Two 
tame  lynxes  shared  it  with  a  donkey  ;  and 
the  rest  of  the  population  seemed  to  have 
gone  to  bed.  In  the  hot  weather,  between 
ten  in  the  morning  and  four  in  the  afternoon 
all  Jodhpur  stays  at  home  for  fear  of  death 
by  sun-stroke,  and  it  is  possible  that  the  habit 
extends  far  into  what  is  officially  called  the 
"  cold  weather  "  ;  or,  perhaps,  being  brought 
up  among  sands,  men  do  not   care   to   tramp 


126  Letters  of  Marque 

them  for  pleasure.  The  city  internally  is  a 
walled  and  secret  place  ;  each  courtyard  being 
hidden  from  view  by  a  red  sandstone  wall  ex- 
cept in  a  few  streets  where  the  shops  are  poor 
and  mean. 

In  an  old  house  now  used  for  the  storing 
of  tents,  Akbar's  mother  lay  two  months,  be- 
fore the  "  Guardian  of  Mankind  "  was  born, 
drawing  breath  for  her  flight  to  Umarkot 
across  the  desert.  Seeing  this  place,  the 
Englishman  thought  of  many  things  not  worth 
the  putting  down  on  paper,  and  went  on  till 
the  sand  grew  deeper  and  deeper,  and  a  great 
camel,  heavily  laden  with  stone,  came  round 
a  corner  and  nearly  stepped  on  him.  As  the 
evening  fell,  the  city  woke  up,  and  the  goats 
and  the  camels  and  the  kine  came  in  by  hun- 
dreds, and  men  said  that  wild  pig,  which  are 
strictly  preserved  by  the  Princes  for  their 
own  sport,  were  in  the  habit  of  wandering 
about  the  roads.  Now  if  they  do  this  in  the 
capital,  what  damage  must  they  not  do  to  the 
crops  in  the  district.?  Men  said  that  they 
did  a  very  great  deal  of  damage,  and  it  was 
hard  to  keep  their  noses  out  of  anything  they 
took  a  fancy  to.  On  the  evening  of  the  Eng- 
lishman's visit,  the  Maharaja  went  out,  as  is 
his  laudable  custom,  alone  and  unattended,  to 
a  road  actually  in  the  city  along  which  one 
specially  big  pig  was  in  the  habit  of  passing. 
His  Highness  got  his  game  with  a  single  shot 
behind  the  shoulder,  and  in  a  few  days,  it  was 
pickled  and  sent  off  to  the  Maharana  of  Udai- 


Letters  of  Marque  127 

pur,  as  a  love-gift.  There  is  great  friendship 
between  Jodhpur  and  Udaipur,  and  the  idea 
of  one  King  going  abroad  to  shoot  game  for 
another  has  something  very  pretty  and  quaint 
in  it. 

Night  fell  and  the  Englishman  became 
aware  that  the  conservancy  of  Jodhpur  might 
be  vastly  improved.  Strong  stenches,  say 
the  doctors,  are  of  no  importance  ;  but  there 
came  upon  every  breath  of  heated  air — and 
in  Jodhpur  City  the  air  is  warm  in  mid-winter 
— the  faint,  sweet,  sickly  reek  that  one  has 
always  been  taught  to  consider  specially 
deadly.  A  few  months  ago  there  was  an  im- 
pressive outbreak  of  cholera  in  Jodhpur,  and 
the  Residency  Doctor,  who  really  hoped  that 
the  people  would  be  brought  to  see  sense, 
did  his  best  to  bring  forward  a  general  cleans- 
ing-scheme. But  the  city  fathers  would  have 
none  of  it.  Their  fathers  had  been  trying  to 
poison  themselves  in  well-defined  ways  for  an 
indefinite  number  of  years  ;  and  they  were  not 
going  to  have  any  of  the  Sahib's  "  sweeper- 
nonsense." 

To  clinch  everything,  one  traveled  member 
of  the  community  rose  in  his  place  and  said  : 
"  Why,  I've  been  to  Simla.  Yes,  to  Simla ! 
And  even  /don't  want  it !  " 

When  the  black  dusk  had  shut  down,  the 
Englishman  climbed  up  a  little  hill  and  saw 
the  stars  come  out  and  shine  over  the  desert. 
Very  far  away,  some  camel-drivers  had  lighted 
a  fire  and  were  singing  as  they  sat  by  the  side 


128  Letters  of  Marque 

Df  their  beasts.  Sound  travels  as  far  over 
sand  as  over  water,  and  their  voices  came  into 
the  city  wall  and  beat  against  it  in  multiplied 
echoes. 

Then  he  returned  to  the  House  of  Strange 
Stories — the  Dak-bungalow — and  passed  the 
time  o'  day  with  a  light-hearted  bagman — a 
Cockney,  in  whose  heart  there  was  no  thought 
of  India,  though  he  had  traveled  for  years 
throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  Em- 
pire and  over  New  Burma  as  well.  There  was 
a  fort  in  Jodhpur,  but  you  see  that  was  not  in 
his  line  of  business  exactly,  and  there  were 
stables,  but  "  you  may  take  my  word  for  it, 
them  who  has  much  to  do  with  horses  is  a  bad 
lot.  You  get  hold  of  the  Maharaja's  coach- 
man and  he'll  drive  you  all  around  the  shop. 
I'm  only  waiting  here  collecting  money." 
Jodhpur  dak-bungalow  seems  to  be  full  of 
men  "  waiting  here."  They  lie  in  long  chairs 
in  the  veranda  and  tell  each  other  intermin- 
able stories,  or  stare  citywards  and  express 
their  opinion  of  some  dilatory  debtor.  They 
are  all  waiting  for  something  ;  and  they  vary 
the  monotony  of  a  life  they  make  wilfully  dull 
beyond  words,  by  waging  war  with  the  dak- 
bungalow  khansama.  Then  they  return  to 
their  long  chairs  or  their  couches,  and  sleep. 
Some  of  them,  in  old  days,  used  to  wait  as 
long  as  six  weeks — six  weeks  in  May,  when 
the  sixty  miles  from  Marwai*  Junction  to  Jodh- 
pur was  covered  in  three  days  by  slow-pacing 
bullock  carts!     Some  of  them  are  bagmen, 


Letters  of  Marque  129 

able  to  describe  the  demerits  of  every  dak- 
bungalow  from  the  Peshin  to  Pagan,  and 
southward  to  Hyderabad — men  of  substance 
who  have  "  The  Trades  "  at  their  back.  It  is 
a  terrible  thing  to  be  in  "The  Trades,"  that 
great  Doomsday  Book  of  Calcutta,  in  whose 
pages  are  written  the  names  of  doubtful 
clients.  Let  light-hearted  purchasers  take 
note. 

And  the  others,  who  wait  and  swear  and 
spit  and  exchange  anecdotes — what  are  they  .'' 
Bummers,  land-sharks,  skirmishers  for  their 
bread.  It  would  be  cruel  in  a  fellow-tramp  to 
call  them  loafers.  Their  lien  upon  the  State 
may  have  its  origin  in  horses,  or  anything 
else  ;  for  the  State  buys  anything  vendible, 
from  Abdul  Rahman's  most  promising  impor- 
tations to  a  patent,  self-acting  corkscrew. 
They  are  a  mixed  crew,  but  amusing  and  full 
of  strange  stories  of  adventure  by  land  and 
sea.  x\nd  their  ends  are  as  curiously  brutal 
as  their  lives.  A  wanderer  was  once  swept 
into  the  great,  still  backwater  that  divides  the 
loaferdom  of  Upper  India — that  is  to  say, 
Calcutta  and  Bombay — from  the  north-going 
current  of  Madras,  where  Nym  and  Pistol  are 
highly  finished  articles  with  certificates  of  edu- 
cation. This  backwater  is  a  dangerous  place 
to  break  down  in,  as  the  men  on  the  Road 
know  well.  "  You  can  run  Rajputana  in  a 
pair  o'  sack  breeches  an'  an  old  hat,  but  go  to 
Central  Injia  with  money,"  says  the  wisdom 
of  the  Road.  So  the  waif  died  in  the  bazaar, 
9 


130  Letters  of  Marque 

and  the  Barrack- master  Sahib  gave  orders  for 
his  burial.  It  might  have  been  the  bazaar 
sergeant,  or  it  might  have  been  an  hireUng 
who  was  charged  with  the  disposal  of  the 
body.  At  any  rate,  it  was  an  Irishman  who 
said  to  the  Barrack-master  Sahib  :  "  Fwhat 
about  that  loafer  ?  "  "  Well,  what's  the  mat- 
ter?" "I'm  considtherin  whether  I'm  to 
mash  in  his  thick  head,  or  to  break  his  long 
legs.     He  won't  fit  the  store-coffin  anyways." 

Here  the  story  ends.  It  may  be  an  old 
one  ;  but  it  struck  the  Englishman  as  being 
rather  unsympathetic  in  its  nature  ;  and  he 
has  preserved  it  for  this  reason.  Were  the 
Englishman  a  mere  Secretary  of  State  instead 
of  an  enviable  and  unshackled  vagabond,  he 
would  remodel  that  Philanthropic  Institution 
of  Teaching  Young  Subalterns  how  to  Spell 
— variously  called  the  Intelligence  and  the 
Political  Department — and  giving  each  boy 
the  pair  of  sack  breeches  and  old  hat,  above 
prescribed,  would  send  him  out  for  a  twelve- 
month on  the  Road.  Not  that  he  might  learn 
to  swear  Australian  oaths  (which  are  superior 
to  any  ones  in  the  market)  or  to  drink  bazaar- 
drinks  (which  are  very  bad  indeed),  but  in 
order  that  he  might  gain  an  insight  into  the 
tertiary  politics  of  States — things  less  impos- 
ing than  succession-cases  and  less  wearisome 
than  boundary  disputes,  but  very  well  worth 
knowing. 

A  small  volume  might  be  written  of  the  ways 
and  the  tales  of  Indian  loafers  of  the  more 


Letters  of  Marque  131 

brilliant  order — such  Chevaliers  of  the  Order 
of  Industry  as  would  throw  their  glasses  in 
your  face  did  you  call  them  loafers.  They 
are  a  genial,  blasphemous,  blustering  crew, 
and  preeminent  even  in  a  land  of  liars. 


132  Letters  of  Marque 


XIII. 

The  hospitality  that  spreads  tables  in  the 
wilderness,  and  shifts  the  stranger  from  the 
back  of  the  hired  camel  into  a  two-horse  vic- 
toria, must  be  experienced  to  be  appreciated. 

To  those  unacquainted  with  the  peculiari- 
ties of  the  native-trained  horse,  this  advice 
may  be  worth  something.  Sit  as  far  back  as 
ever  you  can,  and,  if  Oriental  courtesy  have 
put  an  English  bit  and  bridoon  in  a  mouth  by 
education  intended  for  a  spiked  curb,  leave 
the  whole  contraption  alone.  Once  acquaint- 
ed with  the  comparative  smoothness  of  Eng- 
lish ironmongery,  your  mount  will  grow  frivo- 
lous. In  which  event  a  four  pound  steeple- 
chase saddle,  accepted  through  sheer  shame, 
offers  the  very  smallest  amount  of  purchase  to 
untrained  legs. 

The  Englishman  rode  up  to  the  Fort,  and 
by  the  way  learnt  all  these  things  and  m.any 
more.  He  was  provided  with  a  racking, 
female  horse  who  swept  the  gullies  of  the  city 
by  dancing  sideways. 

The  road  to  the  Fort,  which  stands  on  the 
Hill  of  Strife,  wound  in  and  out  of  sixty-foot 
hills,  with  a  skilful  avoidance  of  all  shade ; 
and  this  was  at  high  noon,  when  puffs  of 
heated  air  blew  from  the  rocks  on  all  sides. 
"  What   must   the    heat    be    in   May  ? "     The 


Letters  of  Marque  133 

Englishman's  companion  was  a  cheery  Brah- 
min, who  wore  the  hghtest  of  turbans  and 
sat  the  smallest  of  neat  little  countrybreds. 
"  Awful  !  "  said  the  Brahmin.  "  But  not  so 
bad  as  in  the  district.  Look  there  !  "  and  he 
pointed  from  the  brow  of  a  bad  eminence, 
across  the  quivering  heat-haze,  to  where  the 
white  sand  faded  into  bleach  blue  sky  and 
the  horizon  was  shaken  and  tremulous.  "  It's 
very  bad  in  summer.  Would  knock  you — oh 
yes — all  to  smash,  but  we  are  accustomed  to 
it."  A  rock-strewn  hill,  about  half  a  mile,  as 
the  crow  flies,  from  the  Fort  was  pointed  out  as 
the  place  whence,  at  the  beginning  of  this  cen- 
tury, the  Pretender  Sowae  besieged  Raja  Maun 
for  five  months,  but  could  make  no  headway 
against  his  foe.  One  gun  of  the  enemy's  bat- 
teries specially  galled  the  Fort,  and  the  Jodhpur 
King  offered  a  village  to  any  of  his  gunners 
who  should  dismount  it.  "It  was  smashed," 
said  the  Brahmin.  "  Oh  yes,  all  to  pieces." 
Practically,  the  city  which  lies  below  the  Fort 
is  indefensible,  and  during  the  many  wars  of 
Marwar  has  generally  been  taken  up  by  the 
assailants  without  resistance. 

Entering  the  Fort  by  the  Jeypore  Gate,  and 
studiously  refraining  from  opening  his  um- 
brella, the  Englishman  found  shadow  and 
coolth,  took  off  his  hat  to  the  tun-bellied, 
trunk-nosed  God  of  Good-Luck  who  had  been 
very  kind  to  him  in  his  wanderings,  and  sat 
down  near  half  a  dozen  of  the  Maharaja's 
guns  bearing  the  Mark,  "  A.  Broome,  Cossi- 


134  Letters  of  Marque 

pore,  1857,"  ^^  "  G-  Hutchinson,  Cossipore, 
1838."  Now  rock  and  masonry  are  so  curi- 
ously blended  in  this  great  pile  that  he  who 
walks  through  it  loses  sense  of  being  among 
buildings.  It  is  as  though  he  walked  through 
mountain-gorges.  The  stone-paved,  inclined 
planes,  and  the  tunnel-like  passages  driven 
under  a  hundred  feet  height  of  buildings,  in- 
crease this  impression.  In  many  places  the 
wall  and  rock  runs  up  unbroken  by  any  win- 
dow for  forty  feet. 

It  would  be  a  week's  work  to  pick  out  even 
roughly  the  names  of  the  dead  who  have 
added  to  the  buildings,  or  to  describe  the 
bewildering  multiplicity  of  courts  and  ranges 
of  rooms  ;  and,  in  the  end,  the  result  would 
be  as  satisfactory  as  an  attempt  to  describe  a 
nightmare.  It  is  said  that  the  rock  on  \vhich 
the  Fort  stands  is  four  miles  in  circuit,  but 
no  man  yet  has  dared  to  estimate  the  size  of 
the  city  that  they  call  the  Palace,  or  the  mile- 
age of  its  ways.  Ever  since  Ras  Joda,  four 
hundred  years  ago,  listened  to  the  voice  of  a 
/ogi,  and  leaving  Mundore  built  his  eyrie  on 
the  *'  Bird's  nest  "  as  the  Hill  of  Strife  was 
called,  the  Palaces  have  grown  and  thickened. 
Even  to-day  the  builders  are  still  at  work. 
Takht  Singh,  the  present  ruler's  predecessor, 
built  royally.  An  incomplete  bastion  and  a 
Hall  of  Flowers  are  among  the  works  of  his 
pleasure.  Hidden  away  behind  a  mighty  wing 
of  carved  red  sandstone  lie  rooms  set  apart 
for  Viceroys,  Durbar  Halls  and  dinner-rooms 


Letters  of  Marque  135 

without  end.  A  gentle  gloom  covers  the  evi- 
dences of  the  catholic  taste  of  the  State  in 
articles  of  "  bigotry  and  virtue  "  ;  but  there 
is  enough  light  to  show  the  raison  d'eh'e  of  the 
men  who  wait  in  the  dak-bungalow.  And, 
after  all,  what  is  the  use  of  Royalty  in  these 
days  if  a  man  may  not  take  delight  in  the  pride 
of  the  eye  ?  Kumbha  Rana,  the  great  man  of 
Chitor,  fought  like  a  Rajput,  but  he  had  an  in- 
stinct which  made  him  build  the  Tower  of  Vic- 
tory at,  who  knows  what  cost  of  money  and  life. 
The  fighting-instinct  thrown  back  upon  itself 
must  have  some  sort  of  outlet ;  and  a  merci- 
ful Providence  wisely  ordains  that  the  Kings 
of  the  East  in  the  nineteenth  century  shall  take 
pleasure  in  shopping  on  an  imperial  scale. 
Dresden  China  snuff-boxes,  mechanical  en- 
gines, electro-plated  fish-slicers,  musical  boxes, 
and  gilt  blown-glass  Christmas  tree  balls  do 
not  go  well  with  the  splendors  of  a  Palace 
that  might  have  been  built  by  Titans  and  col- 
ored by  the  morning  sun.  But  there  are  ex- 
cuses to  be  made  for  Kings  who  have  no 
fighting  to  do. 

In  one  of  the  higher  bastions  stands  a  curi- 
ous specimen  of  one  of  the  earliest  mitrail- 
leuses— a  cumbrous  machine  carrying  twenty 
gun-barrels  in  two  rows,  which  small-arm  fire 
is  flanked  by  two  tiny  cannon.  As  a  muzzle- 
loading  implement  its  value  after  the  first 
discharge  would  be  insignificant  ;  but  the 
soldiers  lounging  by  assured  the  Englishman 
that  in  had  done  good  service  in  its  time. 


136  Letters  of  Marque 

A  man  may  spend  a  long  hour  in  the  upper 
tiers  of  the  Palaces,  but  still  far  from  the 
roof-tops,  in  looking  out  across  the  desert. 
There  are  Englishmen  in  these  wastes,  who 
say  gravely' that  there  is  nothing  so  fascinat- 
ing as  the  sand  of  Bikanir  and  Marwar. 
"You  see,"  explained  an  enthusiast  of  the 
Hat-marked  Caste,  "  you  are  not  shut  in  by 
roads,  and  you  can  go  just  as  you  please. 
And,  somehow,  it  grows  upon  you  as  you  get 
used  to  it,  and  you  end,  y'  know,  by  falling  in 
love  with  the  place."  Look  steadily  from  the 
Palace  westward  where  the  city  with  its  tanks 
and  serais  is  spread  at  your  feet,  and  you 
will,  in  a  lame  way,  begin  to  understand  the 
fascination  of  the  Desert  which,  by  those  who 
have  felt  it,  is  said  to  be  even  stronger  than 
the  fascination  of  the  Road.  The  city  is  of 
red  sandstone  and  dull  and  somber  to  look  at. 
Beyond  it,  where  the  white  sand  lies,  the 
country  is  dotted  with  camels  limping  into 
the  Eiwigkeit  or  coming  from  the  same  place. 
Trees  appear  to  be  strictly  confined  to  the 
suburbs  of  the  city.  Very  good.  If  you  look 
long  enough  across  the  sands  while  a  voice  in 
your  ear  is  telling  you  of  half-buried  cities, 
old  as  old  Time,  and  wholly  unvisited  by 
Sahibs,  of  districts  where  the  white  man  is 
unknown,  and  of  the  wonders  of  far-away 
Jeysulmir  ruled  by  a  half-distraught  king, 
sand-locked  and  now  smitten  by  a  terrible 
food  and  water  famine,  you  will,  if  it  happen 
that  you  are  of  a  sedentary  and  civilized  na- 


Letters  of  Marque  137 

ture,  experience  a  new  emotion — will  be  con- 
scious of  a  great  desire  to  take  one  of  the 
lobbing  camels  and  get  away  into  the  desert, 
away  from  the  last  touch  of  To-day,  to  meet 
the  Past  face  to  face.  Some  day  a  novelist 
will  exploit  the  unknown  land  from  the  Rann, 
where  the  wild  ass  breeds,  northward  and 
eastward,  till  he  comes  to  the  Indus. 

But  the  officials  of  Marwar  do  not  call  their 
country  a  desert.  On  the  contrary,  they  ad- 
minister it  very  scientifically  and  raise,  as  has 
been  said,  about  thirty-eight  lakhs  from  it. 
To  come  back  from  the  influence  and  the  pos- 
sible use  of  the  desert  to  more  prosaic  facts. 
Read  quickl}'-  a  rough  record  of  things  in 
modern  Marwar.  The  old  is  drawn  in  Tod, 
who  speaks  the  truth.  The  Maharaja's  right 
hand  in  the  work  of  the  State  is  Maharaj  Sir 
Pertab  Singh,  Prime  Minister  A. — D. — C.  to 
the  Prince  of  Wales,  capable  of  managing  the 
Marwari  who  intrigues  like  a — Marwari, 
equally  capable,  as  has  been  seen,  of  moving 
in  London  Society,  and  Colonel  of  a  newly 
raised  crack  cavalry  corps.  The  Englishmen 
would  have  liked  to  have  seen  him,  but  he 
was  away  in  the  desert  somewhere,  either 
marking  a  boundary  or  looking  after  a  suc- 
cession case.  Not  very  long  ago,  as  the  Setts 
of  Ajmir  knew  well,  there  was  a  State  debt  of 
fifty  lakhs.  This  has  now  been  changed  into 
a  surplus  of  three  lakhs,  and  the  revenue  is 
growing.  Also,  the  simple  Dacoit  who  used 
to   enjoy    himself   very  pleasantly,  has    been 


138  Letters  of  Marque 

put  into  a  department,  and  the  Thug  with 
him. 

Consequently,  for  the  department  takes  a 
genuine  interest  in  this  form  of  shikar,  and 
the  jail  leg-irons  are  not  too  light,  dacoities 
have  been  reduced  to  such  an  extent  that  men 
say  "  you  may  send  a  woman,  with  her  orna- 
ments upon  her,  from  Sojat  to  Phalodi,  and 
she  will  not  lose  a  nose-ring."  Again,  and  this 
in  a  Rajput  State  is  an  important  matter,  the 
boundaries  of  nearly  every  village  in  Marwar 
have  been  demarcated,  and  boundary  fights, 
in  which  both  sides  preferred  small-arm  fire 
to  the  regulation  club,  are  unknown.  The 
open-handed  system  of  giving  away  villages 
had  raised  a  large  and  unmannerly  crop  of 
Jaghifdars.  These  have  been  taken  up  and 
brought  in  hand  by  Sir  Pertab  Singh,  to  the 
better  order  of  the  State. 

A  Punjabi  Sirdar,  Har  Dyal  Singh,  has  re- 
formed, or  made  rather.  Courts  on  the  Civil 
and  Criminal  Side;  and  his  hand  is  said  to 
be  found  in  a  good  many  sweepings  out  of 
old  corners.  It  must  always  be  borne  in  mind 
that  everything  that  has  been  done,  was  car- 
ried through  over  and  under  unlimited  in- 
trigue, for  Jodhpur  is  a  native  State.  Intrigue 
must  be  met  with  intrigue  by  all  except  Gor- 
dons or  demi-gods  ;  and  it  is  curious  to  hear 
how  a  reduction  in  tariff,  or  a  smoothing  out 
of  some  tangled  Court,  had  to  be  worked  by 
shift  and  byway.  The  tales  are  comic,  but 
not  for    publication.      Howbeit,    Har    Dyal 


Letters  of  Marque  139 

Singh  got  his  training  in  part  under  the  Pun- 
jab Government,  and  in  part  in  a  Httle  Native 
State  far  away  in  the  Himalayas,  where  in- 
trigue is  not  altogether  unknown.  To  the 
credit  of  the  "  Pauper  Province  "  be  it  said, 
it  is  not  easy  to  circumvent  a  Punjabi.  The 
details  of  his  work  would  be  dry  reading. 
The  result  of  it  is  good,  and  there  is  justice 
in  Marwar,  and  order  and  firmness  in  its  ad- 
ministration. 

Naturally,  the  land-revenue  is  the  most  in- 
teresting thing  in  Marwar  from  an  adminis- 
trative point  of  view.  The  basis  of  it  is  a 
tank  about  the  size  of  a  swimming-bath,  with 
a  catchment  of  several  hundred  square  yards, 
draining  through  leeped  channels.  When 
God  sends  the  rain,  the  people  of  the  village 
drink  from  the  tank.  When  the  rains  fail,  as 
they  failed  this  year,  they  take  to  their  wells, 
which  are  brackish  and  breed  guinea-worm. 
For  these  reasons  the  revenue,  like  the  Re- 
public of  San  Domingo,  is  never  alike  for  two 
years  running.  There  are  no  canal  questions 
to  harry  the  authorities  ;  but  the  fluctuations 
are  enormous."  Under  the  Aravalis  the  soil 
is  good :  further  north  they  grow  millet  and 
pasture  cattle,  though,  said  a  Revenue  Officer 
cheerfully,  "  God  knows  what  the  brutes  find 
to  eat."  Apropos  of  irrigation,  the  one  canal 
deserves  special  mention,  as  showing  how 
George  Stephenson  came  to  Jodhpur  and 
astonished  the  inhabitants.  Six  miles  from 
the    city  proper  lies    the  Balsaman    Sagar,  a 


140  Letters  of  Marque 

great  tank.  In  the  hot  weather,  when  the 
city  tanks  ran  out  or  stank,  it  was  the  pleasant 
duty  of  the  women  to  tramp  twelve  miles  at 
the  end  of  the  day's  work  to  fill  their  lotahs.  In 
the  hot  weather  Jodhpur  is — let  a  simile  suffice. 
Sukkur  in  June  would  be  Simla  to  Jodhpur. 

The  State  Engineer,  who  is  also  the  Jodh- 
pur State  Line,  for  he  has  no  European  sub- 
ordinates, conceived  the  idea  of  bringing  the 
water  from  the  Balsaman  into  the  cit3\  Was 
the  city  grateful .?  Not  in  the  least.  It  is 
said  that  the  Sahib  wanted  the  water  to  run 
uphill  and  was  throwing  money  into  the  tank. 
Being  true  Marwaris,  men  betted  on  the  sub- 
ject. The  canal — a  built  out  one,  for  water 
must  not  touch  earth  in  these  parts — was 
made  at  a  cost  of  something  over  a  lakh,  and 
the  water  came  down  because  its  source  was 
a  trifle  higher  than  the  city.  Now,  in  the  hot 
weather,  the  women  need  not  go  for  long 
walks,  but  the  Marwari  cannot  understand 
how  it  was  that  the  waters  came  down  to  Jodh- 
pur. From  the  Marwari  to  money  matters 
is  an  easy  step.  Formerly,  that  is  to  say,  up 
to  within  a  very  short  time,  the  Treasury  of 
Jodhpur  was  conducted  in  a  shiftless,  happy- 
go-lucky  sort  of  fashion,  not  uncommon  in 
Native  States,  whereby  the  Mahajuns  "held 
the  bag  "  and  made  unholy  profits  on  discount 
and  other  things,  to  the  confusion  of  the  Dur- 
bar Funds  and  their  own  enrichment.  There  is 
now  a  Treasury  modeled  on  English  lines,  and 
English  in  the  important  particular  that  money 


Letters  of  Marque  141 

is  not  to  be  got  from  it  for  the  asking,  and  the 
items  of  expenditure  are  strictly  looked  after. 
In  the  middle  of  all  this  bustle  of  reform 
planned,  achieved,  frustrated,  and  replanned, 
and  the  never-ending  underground  warfare 
that  surges  in  a  Native  State,  move  the  Eng- 
lish officers — the  irreducible  minimum  of 
exiles.  As  a  caste,  the  working  Englishmen 
in  Native  States  are  curiously  interesting; 
and  the  traveler  whose  tact  by  this  time  has 
been  blunted  by  tramping,  sits  in  judgment 
upon  them  as  he  has  seen  them.  In  the  first 
place,  they  are,  they  must  be,  the  fittest  who 
have  survived  ;  for  though,  here  and  there, 
you  shall  find  one  chafing  bitterly  against  the 
burden  of  his  life  in  the  wilderness,  one  to  be 
pitied  more  than  any  chained  beast,  the  bulk 
of  the  caste  are  honestly  and  unaffectedly  fond 
of  their  work,  fond  of  the  country  around 
them,  and  fond  of  the  people  they  deal  with. 
In  each  State  their  answer  to  a  question  is 
the  same.  The  men  with  whom  they  are  in 
contact  are  "all  right"  when  you  know  them, 
but  you've  got  to  "  know  them  first,"  as  the 
music-hall  song  says.  Their  hands  are  full 
of  work ;  so  full  that,  when  the  incult  wanderer 
said  :  ^'  What  do  you  find  to  do  }  "  they  look 
upon  him  with  contempt  and  amazement,  ex- 
actly as  the  wanderer  himself  had  once  looked 
upon  a  Globe-trotter,  who  had  put  to  him  the 
same  impertinent  query.  And — but  here  the 
Englishman  may  be  wrong — it  seemed  to  him 
that  in  one  respect  their  lives  were  a  good 


142  Letters  of  Marque 

deal  more  restful  and  concentrated  than  those 
of  their  brethren  under  the  British  Govern- 
ment. There  was  no  talk  of  shiftings  and 
transfers  and  promotions,  stretching  across  a 
Province  and  a  half,  and  no  man  said  any- 
thing about  Simla.  To  one  who  has  hitherto 
believed  that  Simla  is  the  hub  of  the  Empire, 
it  is  disconcerting  to  hear  :  "  Oh,  Simla ! 
That's  where  you  Bengalis  go.  We  haven't 
anything  to  do  with  Simla  down  here."  And 
no  more  they  have.  Their  talk  and  their  in- 
terests run  in  the  boundaries  of  the  States 
they  serve,  and,  most  striking  of  all,  the 
gossipy  element  seems  to  be  cut  altogether. 
It  is  a  backwater  of  the  river  of  Anglo-Indian 
life — or  is  it  the  main  current,  the  broad 
stream  that  supplies  the  motive  power,  and  is 
the  other  life  only  the  noisy  ripple  on  the  sur- 
face .''  You  who  have  lived,  not  merely  looked 
at,  both  lives,  decide.  Much  can  be  learned 
from  the  talk  of  the  caste,  many  curious,  many 
amusing,  and  some  startling  things.  One 
hears  stories  of  men  who  take  a  poor,  im- 
poverished State  as  a  man  takes  a  wife,  "for 
better  or  worse,"  and,  moved  by  some  incom- 
prehensible ideal  of  virtue,  consecrate — that 
is  not  too  big  a  word — consecrate  their  lives 
to  that  State  in  all  single-heartedness  and 
purity.  Such  men  are  few,  but  they  exist  to- 
day, and  their  names  are  great  in  lands  where 
no  Englishman  travels.  Again  the  listener 
hears  tales  of  grizzled  diplomats  of  Rajputana 
— Machiavellis  who  have  hoisted  a  powerful 


Letters  of  Marque  143 

intriguer  with  his  own  intrigue,  and  bested 
priestly  cunning,  and  the  guile  of  the  Oswal, 
simply  that  the  way  might  be  clear  for  some 
scheme  which  should  put  money  into  a  totter- 
ing Treasury,  or  lighten  the  taxation  of  a  few 
hundred  thousand  men — or  both  ;  for  this  can 
be  done.  One  tithe  of  that  force  spent  on 
their  own  personal  advancement  would  have 
carried  such  men  very  far. 

Truly  the  Hat-marked  Caste  are  a  strange 
people.  They  are  so  few  and  so  lonely  and  so 
strong.  They  can  sit  down  in  one  place  for 
years,  and  see  the  works  of  their  hands  and 
the  promptings  of  their  brain  grow  to  actual 
and  beneficent  life,  bringing  good  to  thousands. 
Less  fettered  than  the  direct  servant  of  the 
Indian  Government,  and  working  over  a  much 
vaster  charge,  they  seem  a  bigger  and  a  more 
large-minded  breed.  And  that  is  saying  a 
good  deal. 

But  let  the  others,  the  little  people  bound 
down  and  supervised,  and  strictly  limited  and 
income-taxed,  always  remember  that  the  Hat- 
marked  are  very  badly  off  for  shops.  If  they 
want  a  neck-tie  they  must  get  it  up  from  Bom- 
bay, and  in  the  Rains  they  can  hardly  move 
about  ;  and  they  have  no  amusements  and 
must  go  a  day's  railway  journey  for  a  rubber, 
and  their  drinking-water  is  doubtful  :  and  there 
is  less  than  one  white  woman /^r  ten  thousand 
square  miles. 

After  all,  comparative  civilization  has  its 
advantao:es. 


144  Letters  of  Marque 


XIV. 

JoDHPUR  differs  from  the  other  States  of 
Rajputana  in  that  its  Royalty  are  peculiarly 
accessible  to  an  inquiring  public.  There  are 
wanderers,  the  desire  of  whose  life  it  is  "  to 
see  Nabobs,"  which  is  the  Globe-trotter's  title 
for  any  one  in  unusually  clean  clothes,  or  an 
Oudh  Taluqdar  in  gala  dress.  Men  asked  in 
Jodhpur  whether  the  Englishman  would  like  to 
see  His  Highness.  The  Englishman  had  a  great 
desire  to  do  so  if  his  Highness  would  be  in  no 
way  inconvenienced.  Then  they  scoffed  : 
"  Oh,  he  won't  durbar  you,  you  needn't  flatter 
yourself.  If  he's  in  the  humor  he'll  receive  you 
like  an  English  country-gentleman."  How  in 
the  world  could  the  owner  of  such  a  place  as 
Jodhpur  Palace  be  in  any  way  like  an  English 
country-gentleman  ?  The  Englishman  had  not 
long  to  wait  in  doubt.  His  Highness  intimated 
his  readiness  to  see  the  Englishman  between 
eight  and  nine  in  the  morning  at  the  Raika- 
Bagh.  The  Raika-Bagh  is  not  a  Palace,  for 
the  lower  story  and  all  the  detached  buildings 
round  it  are  filled  with  horses.  Nor  can  it  in 
any  way  be  called  a  stable,  because  the  upper 
story  contains  sumptuous  apartments  full  of  all 
manner  of  valuables  both  of  the  East  and  the 
West.     Nor  is  it  in  any  sense  a  pleasure-garden, 


Letters  of  Marque  145 

for  it  stands  on  soft  white  sand,  close  to  a 
multitude  of  litter  and  sand  training  tracks, 
and  is  devoid  of  trees  for  the  most  part. 
Therefore  the  Raika-Bagh  is  simply  the  Raika- 
Bagh  and  nothing  else.  It  is  now  the  chosen 
residence  of  the  Maharaja  who  loves  to  live 
among  his  four  hundred  or  more  horses.  All 
Jodhpur  is  horse-mad  by  the  way,  and  it  be- 
hoves any  one  who  wishes  to  be  any  one  to 
keep  his  own  race-course.  The  Englishman 
went  to  the  Raika-Bagh,  which  stands  half  a 
mile  or  so  from  the  city,  and  passing  through 
a  long  room  filled  with  saddles  by  the  dozen, 
bridles  by  the  score,  and  bits  by  the  hundred, 
was  aware  of  a  very  small  and  lively  little 
cherub  on  the  roof  of  a  garden-house.  He 
was  carefully  muffled,  for  the  morning  was 
chill.  "  Good  morning,"  he  cried  cheerfully  in 
English,  waving  a  mittened  hand.  "  Are  you 
going  to  see  my  faver  and  the  horses  ? "  It 
was  the  Maharaja  Kanwar,  the  Crown  Prince, 
the  apple  of  the  Maharaja's  eye,  and  one  of 
the  quaintest  little  bodies  that  ever  set  an 
Englishmen  disrespectfully  laughing.  He 
studies  English  daily  with  one  of  the  English 
officials  of  the  State,  and  stands  a  very  good 
chance  of  being  thoroughly  spoiled,  for  he  is 
a  general  pet.  As  befits  his  dignity,  he  has 
his  own  carriage  or  carriages,  his  own  twelve- 
hand  stable,  his  own  house  and  retinue. 

A  few  steps  further  on,  in  a  little  enclosure 
in  front  of  a  small  two-storied  white  bunga- 
low, sat  His  Highness  the  Maharaja,  deep  in 
10 


146  Letters  of  Marque 

discussion  with  the  State  Engineer.  He  wore 
an  English  ulster,  and  within  ten  paces  of  him 
was  the  first  of  a  long  range  of  stalls.  There 
was  an  informality  of  procedure  about  Jodh- 
pur  which,  after  the  strained  etiquette  of 
other  States,  was  very  refreshing.  The  State 
Engineer,  who  has  a  growing  line  to  attend 
to,  cantered  away  and  His  Highness  after  a 
few  introductory  words,  knowing  what  the 
Englishman  would  be  after,  said :  "  Come 
along,  and  look  at  the  horses."  Other  for- 
mality there  was  absolutely  none.  Even  the 
indispensable  knot  of  hangers-on  stood  at  a 
distance,  and  behind  a  paling,  in  this  most 
rustic  country  residence.  A  well-bred  fox- 
terrier  took  command  of  the  proceediwgs,  after 
the  manner  of  dogs  the  world  over,  and  the 
Maharaja  led  to  the  horse-boxes.  But  a  man 
turned  up,  bending  under  the  weight  of  much 
bacon.  "  Oh  !  here's  the  pig  I  shot  for  Udai- 
pur  last  night.  You  see  that  is  the  best 
piece.  It's  pickled,  and  that's  what  makes  it 
yellow  to  look  at."  He  patted  the  great  side 
that  was  held  up.  "There  will  be  a  camel 
sowar  to  meet  it  half  way  to  Udaipur ;  and  I 
hope  Udaipur  will  be  pleased  with  it.  It  was 
a  very  big  pig."  "  And  where  did  you  shoot 
it,  Maharaja  Sahib  ? "  "  Here,"  said  His 
Highness,  smiting  himself  high  up  under  the 
armpit.  "  Where  else  would  you  have  it  ? " 
Certainly  this  descendant  of  Raja  Maun  was 
more  like  an  English  country-gentleman  than 
the  Englishman  in  his  ignorance  had  deemed 


Letters  of  Marque  147 

possible.  He  led  on  from  horse-box  to  horse- 
box, the  terrier  at  his  heels,  pointing  out  each 
horse  of  note  ;  and  Jodhpur  has  many. 
"There's  Raja^  twice  winner  of  the  Civil 
Service  Cup."  The  Englishman  looked  reve- 
rently and  Raja  rewarded  his  curiosity  with  a 
vicious  snap,  for  he  was  being  dressed  over, 
and  his  temper  was  out  of  joint.  Close  to  him 
stood  Autocrat ,  the  gray  with  the  nutmeg 
marks  on  the  off-shoulder,  a  picture  of  a 
horse,  also  disturbed  in  his  mind.  Next  to 
him  was  a  chestnut  Arab,  a  hopeless  cripple, 
for  one  of  his  knees  had  been  smashed  and 
the  leg  was  doubled  up  under  him.  It  was 
Tiu-qiwise^  who,  six  or  eight  years  ago,  re- 
warded good  feeding  by  getting  away  from  his 
groom,  falling  down  and  ruining  himself,  but 
who,  none  the  less,  has  lived  an  honored 
pensioner  on  the  Maharaja's  bounty  ever 
since.  No  horses  are  shot  in  the  Jodhpur 
stables,  and  when  one  dies — they  have  lost 
not  more  than  twenty-five  in  six  years — his 
funeral  is  an  event.  He  is  wrapped  in  a  white 
sheet  which  is  strewn  with  flowers,  and,  amid 
the  weeping  of  the  saises,  is  borne  away  to  the 
burial  ground. 

After  doing  the  honors  for  nearly  half  an 
hour  the  Maharaja  departed,  and  as  the  Eng- 
lishman has  not  seen  m^re  than  forty  horses, 
he  felt  justified  in  demanding  more.  And  he 
got  them.  Eclipse  and  Yoimg  Revenge  were 
out  down-country,  but  Sherwood  at  the  stud, 
Shere  Aliy  Co?iqiieror,  Tynedale^  Sherwood  11^ 


148  Letters  of  Marque 

a  maiden  of  Abdul  Rahman's,  and  many  others 
of  note,  were  in,  and  were  brought  out. 
Among  the  veterans,  a  wrathful,  rampant,  red 
horse  still,  came  Brian  Boru,  whose  name  has* 
been  written  large  in  the  chronicles  of  the 
Indian  turf,  jerking  his  sais  across  the  road. 
His  near-fore  is  altogether  gone,  but  as  a  pen- 
sioner he  condescends  to  go  in  harness,  and  is 
then  said  to  be  a  ''  handful."  He  certainly 
looks  it. 

At  the  two  hundred  and  fifty-seventh  horse, 
and  perhaps  the  twentieth  block  of  stables, 
the  Englishman's  brain  began  to  reel,  and  he 
demanded  rest  and  information  on  a  certain 
point.  He  had  gone  into  some  fifty  stalls, 
and  looked  into  all  the  rest,  and  in  the  looking 
had  searchingly  sniffed.  But,  as  truly  as  he 
was  then  standing  far  below  Brian  Boru's 
bony  withers,  never  the  ghost  of  a  stench  had 
polluted  the  keen  morning  air.  The  City  of 
the  Houyhnhnms  was  specklessly  clean — 
cleaner  than  any  stable,  racing  or  private, 
that  he  had  been  into.  How  was  it  done  ? 
The  pure  white  sand  accounted  for  a  good 
deal,  and  the  rest  was  explained  by  one  of 
the  Masters  of  Horse :  ''  Each  horse  has  one 
sais  at  least — old  Ringwood  has  four — and  we 
make  'em  work.  If  we  didn't,  we'd  be  mucked 
up  to  the  horses'  bellies  in  no  time.  Every- 
thing is  cleaned  off  at  once  ;  and  whenever  the 
sand's  tainted  it's  renewed.  There's  quite 
enough  sand,  you  see,  hereabouts.  Of  course 
we  can't  keep  their  coats  so  good  as  in  other 


Letters  of  Marque  149 

stables,  by  reason  of  the  rolling  ;  but  we  can 
keep  'em  pretty  clean." 

To  the  eye  of  one  who  knew  less  than  noth- 
ing about  horse-flesh,  this  immaculate  purity 
was  very  striking,  and  quite  as  impressive  was 
the  condition  of  the  horses,  which  was  Eng- 
lish-quite English.  Naturally,  none  of  them 
were  in  any  sort  of  training  beyond  daily  exer- 
cise, but  they  were  fit  and  in  such  thoroughly 
good  fettle.  Many  of  them  were  out  on  the 
various  tracks,  and  many  were  coming  in. 
Roughly,  two  hundred  go  out  of  a  morning, 
and,  it  is  to  be  feared,  learn  from  the  heavy 
going  of  the  Jodhpur  courses  how  to  hang  in 
their  stride.  This  is  a  matter  for  those  who 
know,  but  it  struck  the  Englishman  that  agood 
deal  of  the  unsatisfactory  performances  of  the 
Jodhpur  stables  might  be  accounted  for  by 
their  having  lost  their  clean  stride  on  the  sand, 
and  having  to  pick  it  up  gradually  on  the  less 
holding  down-country  courses — unfortunately 
when  they  were  not  doing  training  gallops, 
but  the  real  thing. 

It  was  pleasant  to  sit  down  and  watch  the 
rush  of  the  horses  through  the  great  opening — 
gates  are  not  affected — going  on  to  the  country- 
side where  they  take  the  air.  Here  a  boister- 
ous, unschooled  Arab  shot  out  across  the  road 
and  cried,  "  Ha  !  Ha  !  "  in  the  scriptural  man- 
ner before  trying  to  rid  himself  of  the  grinning 
black  imp  on  his  back.  Behind  him  a  Cabuli 
— surely  all  Cabulis  must  have  been  born  with 
Pelhams     in     their     mouths — bored    sulkily 


1 50  Letters  of  Marque 

across  the  road,  or  threw  himself  across  the 
path  of  a  tall,  mild-eyed  Kurnal-bred  young- 
ster, whose  cocked  ears  and  swinging  head 
showed  that,  though  he  was  so  sedate,  he  was 
thoroughly  taking  in  his  surroundings,  and 
would  very  much  like  to  know  if  there  were 
anybody  better  than  himself  on  the  course  that 
morning.  Impetuous  as  a  schoolboy  and  irre- 
sponsible as  a  monkey,  one  of  the  Prince's 
polo  ponies,  not  above  racing  in  his  own  set, 
would  answer  the  question  by  rioting  past  the 
pupil  of  Parrot,  the  monogram  on  his  bodycloth 
flapping  free  in  the  wind,  and  his  head  and 
hogged  tail  in  the  elements.  The  youngster 
would  swing  himself  round,  and  polka-mazurka 
for  a  few  paces,  till  his  attention  would  be 
caught  by  some  dainty  Child  of  the  Desert, 
fresh  from  the  Bombay  stables,  sweating  at 
every  sound,  backing  and  filling  like  a  rudder- 
less ship.  Then,  thanking  his  stars  that  he 
was  wiser  than  some  people,  Number  177 
would  lob  on  to  the  track  and  settle  down  to 
his  spin  like  the  gentleman  he  was.  Else- 
where, the  eye  fell  upon  a  cloud  of  nameless 
ones,  purchases  from  Abdul  Rahman,  whose 
worth  will  be  proved  next  hot  weather,  when 
they  are  seriously  taken  in  hand — skirmishing 
over  the  face  of  the  land  and  enjoying  them- 
selves immensely.  High  above  everything 
else,  like  a  collier  among  barges,  screaming 
shrilly,  a  black,  flamboyant  Marwari  stallion, 
with  a  crest  like  the  crest  of  a  barb,  barrel-bel- 
lied, goose-rumped,  and  river-maned,  pranced 


Letters  of  Marque  151 

through  the  press,  while  the  slow-pacing 
waler  carriage-horses  eyed  him  with  deep  dis- 
favor, and  the  Maharaja  Kanwar's  tiny  mount 
capered  under  his  pink,  Roman  nose,  kicking 
up  as  much  dust  as  the  Foxhall  colt  who  had 
got  on  to  a  lovely  patch  of  sand  and  was 
dancing  a  saraband  in  it.  In  and  out  of  the 
tangle,  going  down  to  or  coming  back  from 
the  courses,  ran,  shuffled,  rocketed,  plunged, 
sulked,  or  stampeded  countless  horses  of  all 
kinds,  shapes,  and  descriptions — so  that  the 
eye  at  last  failed  to  see  what  they  were,  and 
only  retained  a  general  impression  of  a  whirl 
of  bays,  grays,  iron  grays,  and  chestnuts  with 
white  stockings,  some  as  good  as  could  be 
desired,  others  average,  but  not  one  distinctly 
bad. 

'•'  We  have  no  downright  bad  'uns  in  this 
stable.  What's  the  use  ? "  said  the  Master  of 
Horse,  calmly.  "  They  are  all  good  beasts 
and,  one  with  another,  must  cost  more  than  a 
thousand  rupees  each.  This  year's  new  ones 
bought  from  Bombay  and  the  pick  of  our 
own  studs  are  a  hundred  strong  about.  May 
be  more.  Yes,  they  look  all  right  enough  ; 
but  you  can  never  know  what  they  are  going 
to  turn  out.  Live-stock  is  very  uncertain." 
"  And  how  are  the  stables  managed  ?  how  do 
you  make  room  for  the  fresh  stock  ?  "  Some- 
thing this  way.  Here  are  all  the  new  ones 
and  Parrott's  lot,  and  the  English  colts  that 
Maharaja  Pertab  Singh  brought  out  with  him 
from  Home.      Winterlake  out  o'  Queen'' s  Con 


1 52  Letters  of  Marque 

sort  that  chestnut  is  with  the  two  white  stock- 
ings you're  looking  at  now.  Well,  next  hot 
weather  we  shall  see  what  they're  made  of  and 
which  is  who.  There's  so  many  that  the 
trainer  hardly  knows  'em  one  from  another 
till  they  begin  to  be  a  good  deal  forward. 
Those  that  haven't  got  the  pace,  or  that  the 
Maharaja  don't  fancy,  they're  taken  out  and 
sold  for  what  they'll  bring.  The  man  who  takes 
the  horses  out  has  a  good  job  of  it.  He  comes 
back  and  says  :  "  I  sold  such  and  such  for  so 
much,  and  here's  the  money."  That's  all. 
Well,  our  rejections  are  worth  having.  They 
have  taken  prizes  at  the  Poona  Horse  Show. 
See  for  yourself.  Is  there  one  of  those  that 
you  wouldn't  be  glad  to  take  for  a  hack,  and 
look  well  after  too  t  Only  they're  no  use  to 
us,  and  so  out  they  go  by  the  score.  We've  got 
sixty  riding-boys,  perhaps  more,  and  they've 
got  their  work  cut  out  to  keep  them  all  going. 
What  you've  seen  are  only  the  stables. 
We've  got  one  stud  at  Bellara  eighty  miles 
out,  and  they  come  in  sometimes  in  droves  of 
three  and  four  hundred  from  the  stud.  They 
raise  Marwaris  there  too,  but  that's  entirely 
under  native  management.  We've  got  noth- 
ing to  do  with  that.  The  natives  reckon  a 
Marwari  the  best  country-bred  you  can  lay 
hands  on  ;  and  some  of  them  are  beauties  ! 
Crests  on  'em  like  the  top  of  a  wave.  Well, 
there's  that  stud  and  another  stud  and,  reck- 
oning one  with  another,  I  should  say  the 
Maharaja  has  nearer  twelve  hundred  than  a 


Letters  of  Marque  153 

thousand  horses  of  his  own.  For  this  place 
here,  two  wagon-loads  of  grass  come  in  every 
day  from  Marwar  Junction.  Lord  knows  how 
many  saddles  and  bridles  we've  got.  I  never 
counted.  I  suppose  we've  about  forty  car- 
riages, not  counting  the  ones  that  get  shabby 
and  are  stacked  in  places  in  the  city,  as  I  sup- 
pose you've  seen.  We  take  'em  out  in  the 
morning,  a  regular  string  altogether,  brakes  and 
all ;  but  the  prettiest  turn-out  we  ever  turned 
out  was  Lady  Dufferin's  pony  four-in-hand. 
Walers — thirteen-two  the  wheelers,  I  think,  and 
thirteen-one  the  leaders.  They  took  prizes  in 
Poona.  That  7aas  a  pretty  turn-out.  The 
prettiest  in  India.  Lady  Dufferin,  she  drove 
it  when  the  Viceroy  was  down  here  last  year. 
There  are  bicycles  and  tricycles  in  the  car- 
riage department  too.  I  don't  know  how 
many  but  when  the  Viceroy's  camp  was  held, 
there  was  about  one  apiece  for  the  gentlemen, 
with  remounts.  They're  somewhere  about  the 
place  now,  if  you  want  to  see  them.  Plow  do 
we  manage  to  keep  the  horses  so  quiet  ?  You'll 
find  some  o'  the  youngsters  play  the  goat  a 
good  deal  when  they  come  out  o'  stable,  but, 
as  you  say,  there's  no  vice  generally.  It's  this 
way.  We  don't  allow  any  curry-combs.  If 
we  did,  the  saises  would  be  wearing  out  their 
brushes  on  the  combs.  It's  all  elbow-grease 
here.  They've  got  to  go  over  the  horses  with 
their  hands.  They  must  handle  'em,  and  a 
native  he's  afraid  of  a  horse.  Now  an  Eng- 
lish groom,  when  a  horse  is  doing  the  fool, 


154  Letters  of  Marque 

clips  him  over  the  head  with  a  curry-comb,  or 
punches  him  in  the  belly ;  and  that  hurts  the 
horse's  feelings.  A  native,  he  just  stands 
back  till  the  trouble  is  over.  He  must  handle 
the  horse  or  he'd  get  into  trouble  for  not 
dressing  him,  so  it  comes  to  all  handling  and 
no  licking,  and  that's  why  you  won't  get  hold 
of  a  really  vicious  brute  in  these  stables. 
Old  Rmgwood  he  had  four  saises,  and  he 
wanted  'em  every  one,  but  the  other  horses 
have  no  more  than  one  sais  apiece.  The  Ma- 
haraja he  keeps  fourteen  or  fifteen  horses  for 
his  own  riding.  Not  that  he  cares  to  ride  now, 
but  he  likes  to  have  his  horses  ;  and  no  one 
else  can  touch  'em.  Then  there's  the  horses 
that  he  mounts  his  visitors  on,  when  they 
come  for  pig-sticking  and  such  like,  and  then 
there's  a  lot  of  horses  that  go  to  Maharaja 
Pertab  Singh's  new  cavalry  regiment.  So  you 
see  a  horse  can  go  through  all  three  degrees 
sometimes  before  he  gets  sold,  and  be  a  good 
horse  at  the  end  of  it.  And  I  think  that's 
about  all  !  " 

A  cloud  of  youngsters,  sweating  freely  and 
ready  for  any  mischief,  shot  past  on  their  way 
to  breakfast,  and  the  conversation  ended  in  a 
cloud  of  sand  and  the  drumming  of  hurrying 
hooves. 

In  the  Raika-Bagh  are  more  racing  cups 
than  this  memory  holds  the  names  of.  Chief- 
est  of  all  was  the  Delhi  Assemblage  Cup — 
the  Imperial  Vase,  of  solid  gold,  won  by 
Crown   Prince.     The    other   pieces    of    plate 


Letters  of  Marque  155 

were  not  so  imposing.  But  of  all  the  Crown 
Jewels,  the  most  valuable  appeared  at  the  end 
of  the  inspection.  It  was  the  small  Maharaja 
Kanwar  lolling  in  state  in  a  huge  barouche — 
his  toes  were  at  least  two  feet  off  the  floor — 
that  was  taking  him  from  his  morning  drive. 
"  Have  you  seen  my  horses  ?  "  said  the  Maha- 
raja Kanwar.  The  four  twelve-hand  ponies 
had  been  duly  looked  over,  and  the  future 
ruler  of  Jodhpur  departed  satisfied. 


156  Letters  of  Marque 


XV. 

"  A  TWENTY-FIVE  per  cent,  reduction  all 
roun'  an'  no  certain  leave  when  you  wants 
it.  (9/"  course  the  best  men  goes  somewhere 
else.  That's  only  natural,  and  'ere's  this 
sanguinary  down  mail  a-stickin'  in  the  eye  of 
the  Khundwa  down  !  I  tell  you,  Sir,  Injia's 
a  bad  place — a  very  bad  place.  'Tisn't  what 
it  was  when  I  came  out  one  and  thirty  year 
ago,  an'  the  drivers  was  getting  their  seven 
and  eight  'undred  rupees  a  month  an'  was 
treated  as  meny 

The  Englishman  was  on  his  way  to  Nasira- 
bad,  and  a  gentleman  in  the  Railway  was 
explaining  to  him  the  real  reason  of  the  de- 
cadence of  the  Empire.  It  was  because  the 
Rajputana-Malwa  Railway  had  cut  all  its 
employes  twenty-five  per  cent.  It  is  ungen- 
erous to  judge  a  caste  by  a  few  samples;  but 
the  Englishman  had  on  the  Road  and  elsewhere 
seen  a  good  dealof  gentlemen  on  the  Railway, 
and  they  spend  their  pay  in  a  manner  that 
would  do  credit  to  an  income  of  a  thousand  a 
month.  Now  they  say  that  the  twenty-five 
per  cent,  reduction  deprives  them  of  all  the 
pleasures  of  life.  So  much  the  better  if  it 
makes  them  moderately  economical  in  their 
expenditure.  Revolving  these  things  in  his 
mind,  together  with  one  or  two  stories  of 
extravagances  not  quite   fit   for   publication, 


Letters  of  Marque  157 

the  Englishman  came  to  Nasirabad,  before 
sunrise,  and  there  to  an  evil-looking  tonga. 
Quoth  Ram  Baksh,  proprietor,  driver,  sais, 
and  everything  else,  calmly  :  "  At  this  time 
of  the  year  and  having  regard  to  the  heat  of 
the  sun  who  wants  a  top  to  a  tonga  ?  I  have 
no  top.  I  have  a  top,  but  it  would  take  till 
twelve  o'clock  to  put  it  on.  And  behold, 
Sahib,  Padre  Martum  Sahib  went  in  this 
tonga  to  Deoli.  All  the  Officer  Sahibs  of 
Deoli  and  Nasirabad  go  in  this  tonga  for 
shikar.  This  is  a  '  shutin-tonga  ' !  "  "  When 
Church  and  Army  are  brought  against  one, 
argument  is  in  vain."  But  to  take  a  soft, 
office-bred  unfortunate  into  the  wilderness, 
upon  a  skeleton,  a  diagram  of  a  conveyance, 
is  brutality.  Ram  Baksh  did  not  see  it,  and 
headed  his  two  thirteen-hand  rats  straight 
towards  the  morning  sun,  along  a  beautiful 
military  road.  "We  shall  get  to  Deoli  in  six 
hours,"  said  Ram  Baksh  the  boastful,  and, 
even  as  he  spoke,  the  spring  of  the  tonga  bar 
snapt  "  mit  a  harp-like  melodious  twang." 
"  What  does  it  matter  }  "  said  Ram  Baksh. 
"  Has  the  Sahib  never  seen  a  tonga-iron  break 
before  ?  Padre  Martum  Sahib  and  all  the 
Officer  Sahibs  in  Deoli—"  "Ram  Baksh," 
said  the  Englishman,  sternly,  "I  am  not  a 
Padre  Sahib  nor  an  Officer  Sahib,  and  if  you 
say  anything  more  about  Padre  Martum  Sahib 
or  the  officer  in  Deoli  I  shall  grow  very  angry. 
Ram  Baksh." 

"  Humph,"  said  Ram  Baksh,  "  I  knew  you 


158  Letters  of  Marque 

were  not  a  Padre  Sahib."  The  little  mishap 
was  patched  up  with  string,  and  the  tonga 
went  on  merrily.  It  is  Stevenson  who  says 
that  the  "  invitation  to  the  road,"  nature's 
great  morning  song,  has  not  yet  been  properly 
understood  or  put  to  music.  The  first  note 
of  it  is  the  sound  of  the  dawn-wind  through 
long  grass.  It  is  good,  good  beyond  expres- 
sion, to  see  the  sun  rise  upon  a  strange  land 
and  to  know  that  you  have  only  to  go  forward 
and  possess  that  land — that  it  will  dower  you 
before  the  day  is  ended  with  a  hundred  new 
impressions,  and,  perhaps,  one  idea.  It  is 
good  to  snuff  the  wind  when  it  comes  in  over 
large  uplands  or  down  from  the  tops  of  the 
blue  Aravalis — dry  and  keen  as  a  new-ground 
sword.  Best  of  all  is  to  light  the  First  Pipe 
— is  there  any  tobacco  so  good  as  that  we 
burn  in  honor  of  the  breaking  day  .? — and, 
while  the  ponies  wake  the  long  white  road 
with  their  hooves  and  the  birds  go  abroad  in 
companions  together,  to  thank  your  stars  that 
you  are  neither  the  Subaltern  who  has  Orderly 
Room,  the  'Stunt  who  has  ofhce,  or  the  Judge 
who  has  the  Court  to  attend ;  but  are  only  a 
loafer  in  a  flannel  shirt  bound,  if  God  pleases, 
to  "  little  Boondi,"  somewhere  beyond  the 
faint  hills  beyond  the  plain. 

But  there  was  alloy  in  this  delight.  Men 
had  told  the  Englishman  darkly  that  Boondi 
State  had  no  love  for  Englishmen,  that  there 
was  nowhere  to  stop,  and  that  no  one  would 
do  anything  for  money.     Love  was  out  of  the 


Letters  of  Marque  159 

question.  Further,  it  was  an  acknowledged 
fact  that  there  were  no  EngHshmen  of  any 
kind  in  Boondi.  But  the  Englishman  trusted 
that  Ganesh  would  be  good  to  him,  and  that 
he  would,  somehow  or  other,  fall  upon  his 
feet  as  he  had  fallen  before.  The  road  from 
Nasirabad  to  Deoli,  being  military  in  its 
nature,  is  nearly  as  straight  as  a  ruler  and 
about  as  smooth.  Here  and  there  little  rocky 
hills,  the  last  off-shoots  of  the  Aravalis  to  the 
west,  break  the  ground  ;  but  the  bulk  of  it  is 
fair  and  without  pimples.  The  Deoli  Force 
are  apparently  so  utterly  Irregular  that  they 
can  do  without  a  telegraph,  have  their  mails 
carried  by  runners,  and  dispense  with  bridges 
over  all  the  fifty-six  miles  that  separate  them 
from  Nasirabad.  However,  a  man  who  goes 
shikarring  for  any  length  of  time  in  one  of 
Ram  Baksh's  tongas  would  soon  learn  to  dis- 
pense with  anything  and  everything.  "  All 
the  Sahibs  use  my  tonga;  I've  got  eight  of 
them  and  twenty  pairs  of  horses,"  said  Ram 
Baksh.  "  They  go  as  far  as  Gangra,  where 
the  tigers  are,  for  they  are  '  shutin-tongas.' " 
Now  the  Englishman  knew  Gangra  slightly, 
having  seen  it  on  the  way  to  Udaipur  ;  and  it 
was  as  perverse  and  rocky  a  place  as  any  man 
would  desire  to  see.  He  politely  expressed 
doubt.  "  I  tell  you  my  tongas  go  anywhere," 
said  Ram  Baksh,  testily.  A  hay-wagon — 
they  cut  and  stack  their  hay  in  these  parts — 
blocked  the  road.  Ram  Baksh  ran  the  tonga 
to  one  side,  into  a  rut,  fetched  up  on  a  tree- 


i6o  Letters  of  Marque 

stump,  rebounded  on  to  a  rock,  and  struck  the 
road  again.  "  Observe,"  said  Ram  Baksh ; 
"  but  that  is  nothing.  You  wait  till  we  get 
on  the  Boondi  road,  and  I'll  make  you  shake, 
shake  like  a  bottle."  *'  Is  it  very  bad  t  " 
"  I've  never  been  to  Boondi  myself,  but  I 
hear  it  is  all  rocks — great  rocks  as  big  as  this 
tonga."  But  though  he  boasted  himself  and 
his  horses  nearly  all  the  way,  he  could  not 
reach  Deoli  in  anything  like  the  time  he  had 
set  forth.  "  If  I  am  not  at  Boondi  by  four," 
he  had  said,  at  six  in  the  morning,  "  let  me  go 
without  my  fee."  But  by  midday  he  was  still 
far  from  Deoli,  and  Boondi  lay  twenty-eight 
miles  beyond  that  station.  "  What  can  I 
do  ?  "  said  he.  "  I've  laid  out  lots  of  horses 
— any  amount.  But  the  fact  is  I've  never 
been  to  Boondi.  I  shan^t  go  there  in  the 
night."  Ram  Baksh's  "  lots  of  horses  "  were 
three  pair  between  Nasirabad  and  Deoli — 
three  pair  of  undersized  ponies  who  did  won- 
ders. At  one  place,  after  he  had  quitted  a 
cotton  wagon,  a  drove  of  gipsies,  and  a  man 
on  horseback,  with  his  carbine  across  his 
saddle-bow,  the  Englishman  came  to  a  stretch 
of  road  so  utterly  desolate  that  he  said  : 
"Now  I  am  clear  of  everybody  who  ever  knew 
me.  This  is  the  beginning  of  the  waste  into 
which  the  scape-goat  was  sent." 

From  a  bush  by  the  roadside  sprang  up  a  fat 
man  who  cried  aloud  in  English  :  "  How  does 
Your  Honor  do  ?  I  met  Your  Honor  in 
Simla     this     year.     Are     you     quite     well  .-* 


Letters  of  Marque  i6i 

Ya-as,  I  am  here.  Your  Honor  remembers 
me  ?  I  am  traveling.  Ya-as.  Ha  !  Ha  !  " 
and  he  went  on,  leaving  His  Honor  bemazed. 
It  was  a  Babu — a  Simla  Babu,  of  that  there 
could  be  no  doubt  ;  but  who  he  was  or  what 
he  was  doing,  thirty  miles  from  anywhere. 
His  Honor  could  not  make  out.  The  native 
moves  about  more  than  most  folk,  except  rail- 
way people,  imagine.  The  big  banking  firms 
of  Upper  India  naturally  keep  in  close  touch 
with  their  great  change-houses  in  Ajmir, 
despatching  and  receiving  messengers  regu- 
larly. So  it  comes  to  pass  that  the  neces- 
sitous circumstances  of  Lieutenant  Ranna- 
mack,  of  the  Tyneside  Tailtwisters,  quartered 
on  the  Frontier,  are  thoroughly  known  and 
discussed,  a  thousand  miles  south  of  the  can- 
tonment where  the  light-hearted  Lieutenant 
goes  to  his  money-lender. 

This  is  by  the  way.  Let  us  return  to  the 
banks  of  the  Banas  river,  where  "  poor 
Carey,"  as  Tod  calls  him,  came  when  he  was 
sickening  for  his  last  illness.  The  Banas  is 
one  of  those  streams  which  runs  '^  over  golden 
sands  with  feet  of  silver,"  but,  from  the  scarp 
of  its  banks,  Deoli  in  the  rains  must  be  iso- 
lated. Ram  Baksh,  questioned  hereon, 
vowed  that  all  the  Officer  Sahibs  never 
dreamed  of  halting,  but  went  over  in  boats  or 
on  elephants.  According  to  Ram  Baksh  the 
men  of  Deoli  must  be  wonderful  creatures. 
They  do  nothing  but  use  his  tongas.  A 
break  in  some  low  hills  gives  on  to  the  dead 
II 


1 62  Letters  of  Marque 

flat  plain  in  which  Deoli  stands.  "  You  must 
stop  here  for  the  night,"  said  Ram  Baksh. 
"  1  will  not  take  my  horses  forward  in  the 
dark  ;  God  know^s  where  the  dak-bungalow  is. 
I've  forgotten,  but  any  one  of  the  Officer 
Saliibs  in  Deoli  will  tell  you." 

Those  in  search  of  a  new  emotion  would 
do  well  to  run  about  an  apparently  empty 
cantonment,  in  a  disgraceful  shooting-tonga, 
hunting  for  a  place  to  sleep  in,  Chaprassis 
come  out  of  back  verandas,  and  are  rude,  and 
regimental  Babus  hop  off  godowns,  and  are 
flippant,  while  in  the  distance  a  Sahib  looks 
out  of  his  room,  and  eyes  the  dusty  forlorn- 
hope  with  silent  contempt.  It  should  be  men- 
tioned that  the  dust  on  the  Deoli  Road  not 
only  powders  but  masks  the  face  and  raiment 
of  the  passenger. 

Next  morning  Ram  Baksh  was  awake  with 
the  dawn,  and  clamorous  to  go  on  to  Boondi. 
"  I've  sent  a  pair  of  horses,  big  horses,  out 
there  and  the  sais  is  a  fool.  Perhaps  they 
will  be  lost;  I  want  to  find  them."  He 
dragged  his  unhappy  passenger  on  the  road 
once  more  and  demanded  of  all  who  passed  the 
dak-bungalow  which  was  the  way  to  Boondi. 
'■'  Observe,"  said  he,  "  there  can  be  only  one 
road,  and  if  I  hit  it  we  are  all  right,  and  I'll 
show  you  what  the  tonga  can  do."  "Amen," 
said  the  Englishman,  devoutly,  as  the  tonga 
jumped  into  and  out  of  a  larger  hole.  "  ^^'ith- 
out  doubt  this  is  the  Boondi  Road,"  said  Ram 
Baksh  ;  "  it  is  so  bad." 


Letters  of  Marque  163 

It  has  been  before  said  that  the  Boondi  State 
has  no  great  love  for  Sahibs.  The  state  of 
the  road  proves  it.  "  This,"  said  Ram  Baksh, 
tapping  the  wheel  to  see  whether  the  last 
plunge  had  smashed  a  spoke,  "is  a  very  good 
road.  You  wait  till  you  see  what  is  ahead." 
And  the  funeral  staggered  on — over  irrigation 
cuts,  through  buffalo  wallows,  and  dried  pools 
stamped  with  the  hundred  feet  of  kine  (this, 
by  the  way,  is  the  most  cruel  road  of  all),  up 
rough  banks  where  the  rock  ledges  peered 
out  of  the  dust,  down  steep-cut  dips  orna- 
mented with  large  stones,  and  along  tw^o-feet 
deep  ruts  of  the  rains,  where  the  tonga  went 
slantwise  even  to  the  verge  of  upsetting.  It 
was  a  royal  road — a  native  road — a  Raj 
road  of  the  roughest,  and,  through  all  its  jolts 
and  bangs  and  bumps  and  dips  and  heaves, 
the  eye  of  Ram  Baksh  rolled  in  its  blood-shot 
socket,  seeking  for  the  "  big  horses"  he  had 
so  rashly  sent  into  the  wilderness.  The 
ponies  that  had  done  the  last  twenty  miles 
into  Deoli  were  nearly  used  up,  and  did  their 
best  to  lie  down  in  the  dry  beds  of  nullahs. 

A  man  came  by  on  horseback,  his  servant 
walking  before  with  platter  and  meal-bag. 
"  Have  you  seen  any  horses  hereabouts  ? '' 
cried  Ram  Baksh.  "  Horses  ?  What  the 
Devil  have  I  to  do  with  your  horses  ?  D'you 
think  I've  stolen  them } "  Now  this  was 
decidedly  a  strange  answer,  and  showed  the 
rudeness  of  the  land.  An  old  woman  under 
a    tree    cried    out    in    a    strange   tongue    and 


164  Letters  of  Marque 

ran  away.  It  was  a  dreamlike  experience, 
this  hunting  for  horses  in  a  wilderness  with 
neither  house  nor  hut  nor  shed  in  sight.  *'  If 
we  keep  to  the  road  long  enough  we  must 
find  them.  Look  at  the  road.  This  Raj 
ought  to  be  smitten  with  bullets."  Ram 
Baksh  had  been  pitched  forward  nearly  on 
the  off-pony's  rump,  and  was  in  a  very  bad 
temper  indeed.  The  funeral  found  a  house 
— a  house  walled  with  thorns — and  near  by 
were  two  big  horses,  thirteen-two  if  an  inch, 
and  harnessed  quite  regardless  of  expense. 

Everything  was  repacked  and  rebound  with 
triple  ropes,  and  the  Sahib  was  provided  with 
an  extra  cushion  ;  but  he  had  reached  a  sort  of 
dreamsome  Nirvana,  having  several  times  bit- 
ten his  tongue  through,  cut  his  boot  against 
the  wheel-edge,  and  twisted  his  legs  into  a 
true-lovers'-knot.  There  was  no  further 
sense  of  suffering  in  him.  He  was  even 
beginning  to  enjoy  himself  faintly  and  by 
gasps.  The  road  struck  boldly  into  hills  with 
all  their  teeth  on  edge,  that  is  to  say,  their 
strata  breaking  across  the  road  in  little  rip- 
ples. The  effect  of  this  was  amazing.  The 
tonga  skipped  merrily  as  a  young  fawn,  from 
ridge  to  ridge.  It  shivered,  it  palpitated,  it 
shook,  it  slid,  it  hopped,  it  waltzed,  it  rico- 
chetted,  it  bounded  like  a  kangaroo,  it  blun- 
dered like  a  sledge,  it  swayed  like  a  top-heavy 
coach  on  a  down-grade,  it  "  kicked "  like  a 
badly  coupled  railway  carriage,  it  squelched 
like  a  country-cart,  it  squeaked  in  its  torment, 


Letters  of  Marque  165 

and  lastly,  it  essayed  to  plow  up  the  ground 
with  its  nose.  After  three  hours  of  this  per- 
formance, it  struck  a  tiny  little  ford,  set  be- 
tween steeply  sloping  banks  of  white  dust, 
where  the  water  was  clear  brown  and  full  of 
fish.  And  here  a  blissful  halt  was  called  un- 
der the  shadow  of  the  high  bank  of  a  tobacco 
field. 

Would  you  taste  one  of  the  real  pleasures 
of  Life  ?  Go  through  severe  acrobatic  exer- 
cises in  and  about  a  tonga  for  four  hours ; 
then,  having  eaten  and  drank  till  you  can  no 
more,  sprawl  in  the  cool  of  a  nullah  bed  with 
your  head  among  the  green  tobacco,  and  your 
mind  adrift  with  the  one  little  cloud  in  a  roy- 
ally blue  sky.  Earth  has  nothing  more  to 
offer  her  children  than  this  deep  delight  of 
animal  well-being.  There  were  butterflies  in 
the  tobacco — six  different  kinds,  and  a  little 
rat  came  out  and  drank  at  the  ford.  To  him 
succeeded  the  flight  into  Egypt.  The  white 
banks  of  the  ford  framed  the  picture  perfectly 
— the  Mother  in  blue,  on  a  great  white 
donkey  holding  the  Child  in  her  arms,  and 
Joseph  walking  beside,  his  hand  upon  the 
donkey's  withers.  By  all  the  laws  of  the 
East,  Joseph  should  have  been  riding  and  the 
Mother  walking.  This  was  an  exception  de- 
creed for  the  Englishman's  special  benefit.  It 
was  very  warm  and  very  pleasant,  and,  some- 
how, the  passers  by  the  ford  grew  indistinct, 
and  the  nullah  became  a  big  English  garden, 
with  a  cuckoo  singing  far  down  in  the  orchard, 


1 66  Letters  of  Marque 

among  the  apple-blossoms.  The  cuckoo 
started  the  dream.  He  was  the  only  real  thing 
in  it,  for  on  waking  the  garden  slipped  back 
into  the  water,  but  the  cuckoo  remained  and 
called  and  called  for  all  the  world  as  though  he 
had  been  a  veritable  English  cuckoo.  "  Cuckoo 
— cuckoo — cuck  "  ;  then  a  pause  and  renewal 
of  the  cry  from  another  quarter  of  the  horizon. 
After  that  the  ford  became  distasteful,  so  the 
procession  was  driven  forward  and  in  time 
plunged  into  what  must  have  been  a  big  city 
once,  but  the  only  inhabitants  were  oil- 
men. There  were  abundance  of  tombs  here, 
and  one  carried  a  lifelike  carving  in  high 
relief  of  a  man  on  horseback  spearing  a  foot- 
soldier.  Hard  by  this  place  the  road  or  rut 
turned  by  great  gardens,  very  cool  and  pleas- 
ant, full  of  tombs  and  black-faced  monkeys 
who  quarreled  among  the  tombs,  and  shut  in 
from  the  sun  by  gigantic  banians  and  mango 
trees.  Under  the  trees  and  behind  the  walls, 
priests  sat  singing ;  and  the  Englishman  would 
have  inquired  into  what  strange  place  he  had 
fallen,  but  the  men  did  not  understand  him. 

Ganesh  is  a  mean  little  God  of  circum- 
scribed powers.  He  was  dreaming,  with  a 
red  and  flushed  face,  under  a  banian  tree  ; 
and  the  Englishman  gave  him  four  annas  to 
arrange  matters  comfortably  at  Boondi.  His 
priest  took  the  four  annas,  but  Ganesh  did 
nothing  whatever,  as  shall  be  shown  later. 
His  only  excuse  is  that  his  trunk  was  a  good 
deal  worn,  and  he  would  have  been  better  for 


Letters  of  Marque  167 

some  more  silver  leaf,  but  that  was  no  fault  of 
the  Englishman. 

Beyond  the  dead  city  was  a  jhil,  full  of  snipe 
and  duck,  winding  in  and  out  of  the  hills ; 
and  beyond  the  jhil,  hidden  altogether  among 
the  hills,  was  Boondi.  The  nearer  to  the  city 
the  viler  grew  the  road  and  the  more  over- 
whelming the  curiosity  of  the  inhabitants. 
But  what  befel  at  Boondi  must  be  reserved  for 
another  chapter. 


1 68  Letters  of  Marque 


XVI. 

It  is  high  time  that  a  new  treaty  were  made 
with  Maha  Rao  Raja  Ram  Singh,  Bahadur, 
Raja  of  Boondi.  He  keeps  the  third  article 
of  the  old  one  too  faithfully,  which  says  that 
he  "  shall  not  enter  into  negotiations  with  any 
one  without  the  consent  of  the  British  Govern- 
ment." He  does  not  negotiate  at  all.  Arrived 
at  Boondi  Gate,  the  Englishman  asked  where 
he  might  lay  his  head  for  the  night,  and  the 
Quarter  Guard  with  one  accord  said  :  "  The 
Sukh  Mahal,  which  is  beyond  the  city,"  and 
the  tonga  went  thither  through  the  length  of 
the  town  till  it  arrived  at  a  pavilion  on  a  lake 
— a  place  of  two  turrets  connected  by  an  open 
colonnade.  The  "  house  "  was  open  to  the 
winds  of  heaven  and  the  pigeons  of  the  Raj ; 
but  the  latter  had  polluted  more  than  the  first 
could  purify.  A  snowy-bearded  choivkidar 
crawled  out  of  a  place  of  tombs,  which  he 
seemed  to  share  with  some  monkeys,  and 
threw  himself  into  Anglo-Saxon  attitudes.  He 
was  a  great  deal  worse  than  Ram  Baksh, 
for  he  said  that  all  the  Officer  Sahibs  of  Deoli 
came  to  the  Sukh  Mahal  for  shikar  and — 
never  went  away  again,  so  pleased  were  they. 
The  Sahib  had  brought  the  Honor  of  his 
Presence,  and  he  was  a  very  old  man,  and 
without   a  written   permit  could    do  nothing. 


Letters  of  Marque  169 

Then  he  fell  deeply  asleep  without  warning ; 
and  there  was  a  pause,  of  one  hour  only,  which 
the  Englishman  spent  in  seeing  the  lake.  It, 
like  the  jhils  on  the  road,  wound  in  and  out 
among  the  hills,  and,  on  the  bund  side,  was 
bounded  by  a  hill  of  black  rock  crowned  with 
a  chhatri  of  gray  stone.  Below  the  bund  was 
a  garden  as  fair  as  eye  could  wish,  and  the 
shores  of  the  lake  were  dotted  with  little  tem- 
ples. Given  a  habitable  house, — a  mere  dak- 
bungalow, — it  would  be  a  delightful  spot  to 
rest  in.  Warned  by  some  bitter  experiences 
in  the  past,  the  Englishman  knew  that  he  was 
in  for  the  demi-semi-royal  or  embarrassing 
reception,  when  a  man,  being  the  unwelcome 
guest  of  a  paternal  State,  is  neither  allowed 
to  pay  his  way  and  make  himself  comfortable, 
nor  is  he  willingly  entertained.  When  he 
saw  a  one-eyed  niunshi  (clerk),  he  felt  certain 
that  Ganesh  had  turned  upon  him  at  last. 
The  vi2inshi  demanded  and  received  the  piir- 
wana.,  or  written  permit.  Then  he  sat  down 
and  questioned  the  traveler  exhaustively  as 
to  his  character  and  profession.  Having 
thoroughly  satisfied  himself  that  the  visitor 
was  in  no  way  connected  with  the  Government 
or  the  "  Agenty  Sahib  Bahadur,"  he  took  no 
further  thought  of  the  matter  and  the  day 
began  to  draw  in  upon  a  grassy  bund,  an 
open-work  pavilion,  and  a  disconsolate  tonga. 
At  last  the  faithful  servitor,  who  had  helped 
to  fight  the  Battle  of  the  Mail  Bags  at  Udaipur, 
broke  his  silence,  and  vowing  that  all  these 


1 70  Letters  of  Marque 

devil-people — not  more  than  twelve — had 
only  come  to  see  the  fun,  suggested  the 
breaking  of  the  7?tunshPs  head.  And,  indeed, 
that  seemed  the  best  way  of  breaking  the  ice ; 
for  the  7nHnski\\?id,  in  the  politest  possible  lan- 
guage, put  forward  the  suggestion  that  there 
was  nothing  particular  to  show  that  the  Sahib 
who  held  X\\e  punvana  had  really  any  right  to 
hold  it.  The  chowkidai'  woke  up  and  chanted  a 
weird  chant,  accompanied  by  the  Anglo-Saxon 
attitudes,  a  new  set.  He  was  an  old  man, 
and  all  the  Sahib-log  said  so,  and  within  the 
pavilion  were  tables  and  chairs  and  lamps  and 
bath-tubs,  and  everything  that  the  heart  of 
man  could  desire.  Even  nov/  an  enormous 
staff  of  menials  were  arranging  all  these  things 
for  the  comfort  of  the  Sahib  Bahadur  and 
Protector  of  the  Poor,  who  had  brought  the 
honor  and  glory  of  his  Presence  all  the  way 
from  Deoli.  What  did  tables  and  chairs  and 
eggs  and  fowls  and  very  bright  lamps  matter 
to  the  Raj  ?  He  was  an  old  man  and  .  .  . 
"Who  put  the  present  Raja  on  the  throne  ?  " 
"  Lake  Sahib,"  promptly  answered  the  chowki- 
dar.  "  I  was  there.  That  is  the  news  of 
many  old  years."  Now  Tod  says  it  was  he 
himself  who  installed  "  Lalji  the  beloved  "  in 
the  year  182 1.  The  Englishman  began  to 
lose  faith  in  the  chowkidar.  The  munshi  said 
nothing  but  followed  the  Englishman  with  his 
one  workable  eye.  A  merry  little  breeze 
crisped  the  waters  of  the  lake,  and  the  fish 
began  to  frolic  before  going  to  bed. 


Letters  of  Marque  171 

"  Is  nobody  going  to  do  or  bring  anything  ?  " 
said  the  Englishman,  faintly,  wondering 
whether  the  local  jail  would  give  him  a  bed  if 
he  killed  the  munshi.  "  I  am  an  old  man,"' 
said  the  chowkidar  and  because  of  their  great 
respect  and  reverence  for  the  Sahib  in  whose 
Presence  I  am  only  a  bearer  of  orders  and  a 
servant  awaiting  them,  men,  many  men,  are 
bringing  now  tent-flies  which  I  with  my  own 
hands  will  wrap,  here  and  there,  there  and 
here,  in  and  about  the  pillars  of  the  place  ; 
and  thus  you,  O  Sahib,  who  have  brought  the 
honor  of  your  Presence  to  the  Boondi  Raj 
over  the  road  to  Deoli,  which  is  a  kutcha  road, 
will  be  provided  with  a  very  fine  and  large 
apartment  over  which  I  will  watch  while  you 
go  to  kill  the  tigers  in  these  hills. 

By  this  time  two  youths  had  twisted  canvas 
round  some  of  the  pillars  of  the  colonnade, 
making  a  sort  of  loose-box  with  a  two-foot 
air-way  all  round  the  top.  There  was  no 
door,  but  there  were  unlimited  windows.  Into 
this  enclosure  the  choivkadir  heaped  furniture 
on  which  many  generations  of  pigeons  had 
evidently  been  carried  off  by  cholera,  until  he 
was  entreated  to  desist.  "  What,"  said  he, 
scornfully,  "  are  tables  and  chairs  to  this  Raj  ? 
If  six  be  not  enough,  let  the  Presence  give  an 
order,  and  twelve  shall  be  forthcoming.  Every- 
thing shall  be  forthcoming."  Here  he  filled  a 
native  lamp  with  kerosene  oil  and  set  it  in  a 
box  upon  a  stick.  Luckily,  the  oil  which  he 
poured  so  lavishly  from   a  quart  bottle   was 


172  Letters  of  Marque 

bad,  or  he  would  have  been  altogether  con- 
sumed. 

Night  had  fallen  long  before  this  magnifi- 
cence was  ended.  The  superfluous  furniture 
— chairs  for  the  most  part — was  shoveled  out 
into  the  darkness,  and  by  the  light  of  a  flam- 
boyant lamplet — a  merry  wind  forbade  candles 
— the  Englishmen  went  to  bed,  and  was  lulled 
to  sleep  by  the  rush  of  the  water  escaping 
from  the  overflow  trap  and  the  splash  of  the 
water-turtle  as  he  missed  the  evasive  fish.  It 
was  a  curious  sight.  Cats  and  dogs  rioted 
about  the  enclosure,  and  a  wind  from  the  lake 
bellied  the  canvas.  The  brushwood  of  the 
hills  around  snapped  and  cracked  as  beasts 
went  through  it,  and  creatures — not  jackals — 
made  dolorous  noises.  On  the  lake  it  seemed 
that  hundreds  of  water-birds  were  keeping  a 
hotel,  and  that  there  were  arrivals  and  depar- 
tures throughout  the  night.  The  Raj  insisted 
upon  providing  a  guard  of  two  sepoys,  very 
pleasant  men,  on  four  rupees  a  month.  These 
said  that  tigers  sometimes  wandered  about  on 
the  hills  above  the  lake,  but  were  most  gen- 
erally to  be  found  five  miles  away.  And  the 
Englishman  promptly  dreamed  that  a  one-eyed 
tiger  came  into  his  tent  without  a  piwwaiia. 
But  it  was  only  a  wild  cat  after  all ;  and  it  fled 
before  the  shoes  of  civilization. 

The  Sukh  Mahal  was  completely  separated 
from  the  city,  and  might  have  been  a  country- 
house.  It  should  be  mentioned  that  Boondi 
is  jammed  into  a  V-shaped  gorge — the  valley 


Letters  of  Marque  173 

at  the  main  entrance  being  something  less 
than  five  hundred  yards  across.  As  it  splays 
out,  the  thickly  packed  houses  follow  its  lines, 
and,  seen  from  above,  seem  like  cattle  herded 
together  preparatory  to  a  stampede  through 
the  gate.  Owing  to  the  set  of  the  hills,  very 
little  of  the  city  is  visible  except  from  the 
Palace.  It  was  in  search  of  this  latter  that 
the  Englishman  went  abroad  and  became  so 
interested  in  the  streets  that  he  forgot  all 
about  it  for  a  time.  Jeypore  is  a  show-city 
and  is  decently  drained  ;  Udaipur  is  blessed 
with  a  State  Engineer  and  a  printed  form  of 
Government ;  for  Jodhpur  the  dry  sand,  the 
burning  sun,  and  an  energetic  doctor  have 
done  a  good  deal,  but  Boondi  has  none  of 
these  things.  The  crampedness  of  the  locality 
aggravates  the  evil,  and  it  can  only  be  in  the 
rains  which  channel  and  furrow  the  rocky  hill- 
sides that  Boondi  is  at  all  swept  out.  The 
Nal  Sagar,  a  lovely  little  stretch  of  water, 
takes  up  the  head  of  the  valley  called  Banda 
Gorge,  and  must,  in  the  nature  of  things,  re- 
ceive a  good  deal  of  unholy  drainage.  But 
setting  aside  this  weakness,  it  is  a  fascinating 
place — this  jumbled  city  of  straight  streets 
and  cool  gardens,  where  gigantic  mangoes  and 
peepuls  intertwine  over  gurgling  watercourses, 
and  the  cuckoo  comes  at  midday.  It  boasts 
no  foolish  Municipality  to  decree  when  a 
house  is  dangerous  and  uninhabitable.  The 
newer  shops  are  built  into,  on  to,  over,  and 
under  time-blackened  ruins  of  an  older  day, 


174  Letters  of  Marque 

and  the  little  children  skip  about  tottering 
arcades  and  grass-grown  walls,  while  their 
parents  chatter  below  in  the  crowded  bazaar. 
In  the  black  slums,  the  same  stones  seem  to 
be  used  over  and  over  again  for  house  build- 
ing. Wheeled  conveyances  are  scarce  in 
Boondi  city — there  is  scant  room  for  carts,  and 
the  streets  are  paved  with  knobsome  stones, 
unpleasant  to  walk  over.  From  time  to  time 
an  inroad  of  Bunjaras''  pack-bullocks  sweeps 
the  main  streets  clear  of  life,  or  one  of  the 
Raja's  elephants — he  has  twelve  of  them — 
blocks  the  way.  But,  for  the  most  part,  the 
foot-passengers  have  all  the  city  for  their 
own. 

They  do  not  hurry  themselves.  They  sit  in 
the  sun  and  think,  or  put  on  all  the  arms 
in  the  family,  and,  hung  with  ironmongery, 
parade  before  their  admiring  friends.  Others, 
lean,  dark  men,  with  bound  jaws  and  only  a 
tulwar  for  weapon,  dive  in  and  out  of  the  dark 
alleys,  on  errands  of  State.  It  is  a  beautifully 
lazy  city,  doing  everything  in  the  real,  true, 
original  native  way,  and  it  is  kept  in  very  good 
order  by  the  Durbar.  There  either  is  or  is 
not  an  order  for  everything.  There  is  no 
order  to  sell  fishing-hooks,  or  to  supply  an 
Englishman  with  milk,  or  to  change  for  him 
currency  notes.  He  must  only  deal  with  the 
Durbar  for  whatever  he  requires  ;  and  where- 
ever  he  goes  he  must  be  accompanied  by  at 
least  two  armed  men.  They  will  tell  him 
nothing,  for  they  know  or  affect  to  know  noth- 


Letters  of  Marque  175 

ing  of  the  city.  They  will  do  nothing  except 
shout  at  the  little  innocents  who  joyfully  run 
after  the  stranger  and  demand  pice,  but  there 
they  are,  and  there  they  will  stay  till  he  leaves 
the  city,  accompanying  him  to  the  gate,  and 
waiting  there  a  little  to  see  that  he  is  fairly  off 
and  away.  Englishmen  are  not  encouraged 
in  Boondi.  The  intending  traveler  would  do 
well  to  take  a  full  suit  of  Political  uniform 
with  the  sunflowers,  and  the  little  black  sword 
to  sit  down  upon.  The  local  god  is  the 
"  Agenty  Sahib,"  and  he  is  an  incarnation 
without  a  name — at  least  among  the  lower 
classes.  The  educated,  when  speaking  of 
him,  always  use  the  courtly  "Bahadur"  affix  ; 
and  yet  it  is  a  mean  thing  to  gird  at  a  State 
which,  after  all,  is  not  bound  to  do  anything 
for  intrusive  Englishmen  without  any  visible 
means  of  livelihood.  The  King  of  this  fair 
city  should  declare  the  blockade  absolute,  and 
refuse  to  be  troubled  with  any  one  except 
"  Colon-nel  Baltah,  Agenty  Sahib  Bahadur  " 
and  the  Politicals.  If  ever  a  railway  is  run 
through  Kotah,  as  men  on  the  Bombay  side 
declare  it  must  be,  the  cloistered  glory  of 
Boondi  will  depart,  for  Kotah  is  only  twenty 
miles  easterly  of  the  city  and  the  road  is 
moderately  good.  In  that  day  the  Globe- 
trotter will  pry  about  the  place,  and  the 
Charitable  Dispensary — a  gem  among  dispen- 
saries — will  be  public  property. 

The  Englishman  was  hunting  for  the  statue 
of  a  horse,  a  great  horse  hight  Hunja,  who  was  a 


176  Letters  of  Marque 

steed  of  Irak,  and  a  King's  gift  to  Rao  Omeda, 
one  time  monarch  of  Boondi.  He  found  it  in 
the  city  square  as  Tod  had  said  ;  and  it  was 
an  unlovely  statue,  carven  after  the  dropsical 
fashion  of  later  Hindu  art.  No  one  seemed 
to  know  anything  about  it.  A  little  further 
on,  one  cried  from  a  byway  in  rusty  English  : 
"  Come  and  see  my  Dispensary."  There  are 
only  two  men  in  Boondi  who  speak  English. 
One  is  the  head,  and  the  other  the  assistant, 
teacher  of  the  English  side  of  Boondi  Free 
School.  The  third  was,  some  twenty  years  ago, 
a  pupil  of  the  Lahore  Medical  College  when 
that  institution  was  young;  and  he  only  re- 
membered a  word  here  and  there.  He  was 
head  of  the  Charitable  Dispensary ;  and  in- 
sisted upon,  then  and  there,  organizing  a  small 
levee  and  pulling  out  all  his  books.  Escape 
was  hopeless  :  nothing  less  than  a  formal  in- 
spection and  introduction  to  all  the  native  phy- 
sicians would  serve.  There  were  sixteen  beds 
in  and  about  the  courtyard,  and  between  twenty 
and  thirty  out-patients  stood  in  attendance. 
Making  allowances  for  untouched  Orientalism, 
the  Dispensary  is  a  good  one,  and  must  relieve 
a  certain  amount  of  human  misery.  There  is 
no  other  in  all  Boondi.  The  operation-book, 
kept  in  English,  showed  the  principal  com- 
plaints of  the  country.  They  were  :  "  Asth- 
ama,"  "  Numonia,"  "  Skindiseas,"  "  Daba- 
laty "  and  "Loin-bite."  This  last  item  oc- 
curred again  and  again — three  and  four  cases 
per  week — and  it  was  not  until  the  Doctor  said 


Letters  of  Marque  177 

"  Sher  se  mara  "  that  the  Englishman  read  it 
aright.  It  was  "  lion-bite,"  or  tiger,  if  you 
insist  upon  zoological  accuracy.  There  was 
one  incorrigible  idiot,  a  handsome  young  man, 
naked  as  the  day,  who  sat  in  the  sunshine, 
shivering  and  pressing  his  hands  to  his  head. 
"  I  have  given  him  blisters  and  setons — have 
tried  native  and  English  treatment  for  two 
years,  bui  it  is  no  use.  He  is  always  as  you 
see  him,  and  now  he  stays  here  by  the  favor  of 
the  Durbar,  which  is  a  very  good  and  pitiful 
Durbar,"  said  the  Doctor.  There  were  many 
such  pensioners  of  the  Durbar — men  afiflicted 
with  chronic  "  asthama"  who  stayed  "  by 
favor,"  and  were  kindly  treated.  They  were 
resting  in  the  sunshine  their  hands  on  their 
knees,  sure  that  their  daily  dole  of  grain  and 
tobacco  and  opium  would  be  forthcoming. 
"  All  folk,  even  little  children,  eat  opium  here," 
said  the  Doctor,  and  the  diet-book  proved  it. 
After  laborious  investigation  of  everything, 
down  to  the  last  indent  to  Bombay  for  Europe 
medicines,  the  Englishman  was  suffered  to  de- 
part. "  Sir,  I  thank  .  .  .  ,"  began  the  Native 
Doctor,  but  the  rest  of  the  sentence  stuck. 
Sixteen  years  in  Boondi  does  not  increase 
knowledge  of  English ;  and  he  went  back  to  his 
patients,  gravely  conning  over  the  name  of  the 
Principal  of  the  Lahore  Medical  School — a 
College  now — who  had  taught  him  all  he  knew, 
and  to  whom  he  intended  to  write.  There 
was  something  pathetic  in  the  man's  catching 
at  news  from  the  outside  world  of  men  he  had 
12 


178  Letters  of  Marque 

known  as  Assistant  and  House  Surgeons  who 
are  now  Rai  Bahadurs,  and  his  parade  of  the 
few  shreds  of  English  that  still  clung  to  him. 
May  he  treat  "  loin-bites  "  and  "  catrack  " 
successfully  for  many  years.  In  the  happy, 
indolent  fashion  that  must  have  merits  which 
we  cannot  understand,  he  is  doing  a  good 
work,  and  the  Durbar  allows  his  Dispensary 
as  much  as  it  wants. 

Close  to  the  Dispensary  stood  the  Free 
School,  and  thither  an  importunate  77iunshi 
steered  the  Englishman,  who,  by  this  time,  was 
beginning  to  persuade  herself  that  he  really 
was  an  accredited  agent  of  Government,  sent 
to  report  on  the  progress  of  Boondi.  From  a 
peepul-shaded  courtyard  came  a  clamor  of 
young  voices.  Thirty  or  forty  little  ones,  from 
five  to  eight  years  old,  were  sitting  in  an  open 
veranda  learning  accounts  and  Hindustani, 
said  the  teacher.  No  need  to  ask  from  what 
castes  they  came,  for  it  was  written  on  their 
faces  that  they  were  Mahajans,  Oswals,  Agger- 
wals,  and  in  one  or  two  cases,  it  seemed, 
Sharawaks  of  Guzerat.  They  were  learning- 
the  business  of  their  lives,  and,  in  time,  would 
take  their  father's  places,  and  show  in  how 
many  ways  money  might  be  manipulated. 
Here  the  profession-type  came  out  with  start- 
ling distinctness.  Through  the  chubbiness  of 
almost  babyhood,  or  the  delicate  suppleness  of 
maturer  years,  in  mouth  and  eyes  and  hands, 
it  betrayed  itself.  The  Rahtor,  who  comes  of 
a  fighting  stock,  is  a  fine  animal,  and  well  bred ; 


Letters  of  Marque  179 

the  Hara,  who  seems  to  be  more  compactly 
built,  is  also  a  fine  animal  ;  but  for  a  race  that 
show  blood  in  every  line  of  their  frame,  from 
the  arch  of  the  instep  to  the  modeling  of  the 
head,  the  financial — trading  is  too  coarse  a 
word — the  financial  class  of  Rajputana  appears 
to  be  the  most  remarkable.  Later  in  life  may 
become  clouded  with  fat  jowl  and  paunch  ; 
but  in  his  youth,  his  quick-eyed,  nimble  youth, 
the  young  Marwar,  to  give  him  his  business 
title,  is  really  a  thing  of  beauty.  His  mianners 
are  courtly.  The  bare  ground  and  a  few  slates 
sufficed  for  the  children  who  were  merely  learn- 
ing the  ropes  that  drag  States  ;  but  the  English 
class,  of  boys  from  ten  to  twelve,  was  supplied 
with  real  benches  and  forms  and  a  table  with 
a  cloth  top.  The  assistant  teacher,  for  the 
head  was  on  leave,  was  a  self-taught  man  of 
Boondi,  young  and  delicate  looking,  who  pre- 
ferred reading  to  speaking  English.  His 
youngsters  were  supplied  with  "  The  Third 
English  Reading  Book,"  and  were  painfully 
thumbing  their  way  through  a  doggerel  poem 
about  an  "  old  man  with  hoary  hair."  One 
boy,  bolder  than  the  rest,  slung  an  English 
sentence  at  the  visitor,  and  collapsed.  It  was 
his  little  stock-in-trade,  and  the  rest  regarded 
him  enviously.  The  Durbar  supports  the 
school,  which  is  entirely  free  and  open  ;  a  just 
distinction  being  maintained  between  the  va- 
rious castes.  The  old  race  prejudice  against 
payment  for  knowledge  came  out  in  reply  to  a 
question.      "  You  must  not  sell  teaching,"  said 


i8o  Letters  of  Marque 

the  teacher  ;  and  the  class  murmured  applau- 
sively,  "You  must  not  sell  teaching." 

The  population  of  Boondi  seems  more 
obviously  mixed  than  that  of  the  other  States. 
There  are  four  or  five  thousand  Mahometans 
within  its  walls,  and  a  sprinkling  of  aborigines 
of  various  varieties,  besides  the  human  raffle 
that  the  Bunjaras  bring  in  their  train,  with 
Pathans  and  sleek  Delhi  men.  The  new 
heraldry  of  the  State  is  curious — something 
after  this  sort.  Or^  a  demi-god,  sable^  issuant 
of  flames,  holding  in  right  hand  a  sword  and 
in  the  left  a  bow — all  proper.  In  chief,  a  dag- 
ger of  the  second,  sheathed  vert,  fessewise  over 
seven  arrows  in  sheaf  of  the  secojid.  This  latter 
blazon  Boondi  holds  in  commemoration  of  the 
defeat  of  an  Imperial  Prince  who  rebelled 
against  the  Delhi  Throne  in  the  days  of  Jehan- 
gir,  when  Boondi,  for  value  received,  took 
service  under  the  Mahometan.  It  might  also 
be,  but  here  there  is  no  certainty,  the  memorial 
of  Rao  Rutton's  victory  over  Prince  Khoorm, 
w^hen  the  latter  strove  to  raise  all  Rajputana 
against  Jehangir  his  father  ;  or  of  a  second 
victory  over  a  riotous  lordling  who  harried 
Mewar  a  little  later.  For  this  exploit,  the 
annals  say,  Jehangir  gave  Rao  Rutton  honor- 
ary flags  and  kettle-drums  which  may  have 
been  melted  down  by  the  science  of  the  Her- 
alds College  into  the  blazon  aforesaid.  All 
the  heraldry  of  Rajputana  is  curious,  and,  to 
such  as  hold  that  there  is  any  worth  in  the 
"  Royal    Science,"     interesting.      Udaipur's 


Letters  of  Marque  i8i 

shield  is,  naturally  gules  a  sun  in  splendor,  as 
befits  the  "  children  of  the  Sun  and  Fire,"  and 
one  of  the  most  ancient  houses  in  India.  Her 
crest  is  the  straight  Rajput  sword,  the  Khaiida^ 
for  an  account  of  the  worship  of  which  very 
powerful  divinity  read  Tod.  The  supporters 
are  a  Bhil  and  a  Rajput,  attired  for  the  forlorn- 
hope  ;  commemorating  not  only  the  defenses 
of  Chitor,  but  also  the  connection  of  the  great 
Bappa  Rawul  with  the  Bhils,who  even  now  play 
the  principal  part  in  the  Crown-Marking  of  a 
Rana  of  Udaipur.  Here,  again,  Tod  explains 
the  matter  atlength.  Banswara  claims  alliance 
with  Udaipur,  and  carries  a  sun,  with  a  label 
of  difference  of  some  kind.  Jeypore  has  the 
five-colored  flag  of  Amber  with  a  sun,  because 
the  House  claim  descent  from  Rama,  and  her 
crest  is  a  kuchnar  tree,  which  is  the  bearing  of 
Dasaratha,  father  of  Rama.  The  white  horse, 
which  faces  the  tiger  as  supporter,  may  or  may 
not  be  memorial  of  the  great  aswamedha  yuga, 
or  horse  sacrifice,  that  Jey  Singh,  who  built 
Jeypore,  did — ?iot  carry  out. 

Jodhpurhas  the  five-colored  flag,  with  a  fal- 
con, in  which  shape  Durga,  the  patron  Goddess 
of  the  State,  has  been  sometimes  good  enough 
to  appear.  She  has  perched  in  the  form  of  a 
wagtail  on  the  howdah  of  the  Chief  of  Jeysul- 
mir,  whose  shield  is  blazoned  with  "forts  in 
a  desert  land,"  and  a  naked  left  arm  holding 
a  broken  spear,  because,  the  legend  goes,  Jey- 
sulmir  was  once  galled  by  a  horse  with  a 
magic  spear.     They  tell  the  story  to-day,  but 


1 82  Letters  of  Marque 

it  is  a  long  one.  The  supporters  of  the 
shield — this  is  canting  heraldry  with  a  ven- 
geance ! — are  antelopes  of  the  desert  spangled 
with  gold  coin,  because  the  State  was  long  the 
refuge  of  the  wealthy  bankers  of  India. 

Bikanir,  a  younger  House  of  Jodhpur,  car- 
ries three  white  hawks  on  the  five-colored 
flag.  The  patron  Goddess  of  Bikanir  once 
turned  the  thorny  jungle  round  the  city  to 
fruit  trees,  and  the  crest  therefore  is  a  green 
tree — strange  emblem  for  a  desert  principality. 
The  motto,  however,  is  a  good  one.  When 
the  greater  part  of  the  Rajput  States  were 
vassals  of  Akbar,  and  he  sent  them  abroad  to 
do  his  will,  certain  Princes  objected  to  cross- 
ing the  Indus,  and  asked  Bikanir  to  head  the 
mutiny  because  his  State  was  the  least  acces- 
sible. He  consented,  on  condition  that  they 
v\''ould  all  for  one  day  greet  him  thus  :  '"''  Jey 
Jafigal  dar  Badshah  !  "  History  shows  what 
became  of  the  objectors,  and  Bikanir's 
motto :  "  Hail  to  the  King  of  the  Waste  !  " 
proves  that  the  tale  must  be  true.  But  from 
Boondi  to  Bikanir  is  a  long  digression,  bred 
by  idleness  on  the  bund  of  the  Burra.  It 
would  have  been  sinful  not  to  let  down  a  line 
into  those  crowded  waters,  and  the  Guards, 
who  were  Mahometans,  said  that  if  the  Sahib 
did  not  eat  fish,  they  did.  And  the  Sahib 
fished  luxuriously,  catching  two  and  three 
pounders,  of  a  perch-like  build,  whenever  he 
chose  to  cast.  He  was  wearied  of  schools 
and  dispensaries,  and  the  futility  of  heraldry 


Letters  of  Marque  183 

accorded   well    with    sloth — that    is    to    say 
Boondi. 

It  should  be  noted,  none  the  less,  that  in 
this  part  of  the  world  the  soberest  mind  will 
believe  anything — believe  in  the  ghosts  by 
the  Gau  Mukh,  and  the  dead  Thakurs  who 
get  out  of  their  tombs  and  ride  round  the 
Burra  Talao  at  Boondi — will  credit  every 
legend  and  lie  that  rises  as  naturally  as  the 
red  flush  of  sunset,  to  gild  the  dead  glories 
of  Rajasthan. 


184  Letters  of  Marque 


XVII. 

"  This  is  a  devil's  place  you  have  come  to, 
Sahib.  No  grass  for  the  horses,  and  the 
people  don't  understand  anything,  and  their 
dirty //^^  are  no  good  in  Nasirabad.  Look 
here."  Ram  Baksh  wrathfuUy  exhibited  a 
handful  of  lumps  of  copper.  The  nuisance  of 
taking  a  native  out  of  his  own  beat  is  that  he 
forthwith  regards  you  not  only  as  the  author 
of  his  being,  but  of  all  his  misfortunes  as  well. 
He  is  as  hampering  as  a  frightened  child  and 
as  irritating  as  a  man.  "  Padre  Martum 
Sahib  never  came  here,"  said  Ram  Baksh, 
with  an  air  of  one  who  had  been  led  against 
his  will  into  bad  company. 

A  story  about  a  rat  that  found  a  piece  of 
turmeric  and  set  up  a  bunnia's  shop  had  sent 
the  one-eyed  ;;z//7zj-/z/ away,  but  a  company  of 
lesser  7}ums/us,  runners,  and  the  like  were  in 
attendance,  and  they  said  that  money  might 
be  changed  at  the  Treasury,  which  was  in  the 
Palace.  It  was  quite  impossible  to  change  it 
anywhere  else — there  was  no  order.  From  the 
Sukh  Mahal  to  the  Palace  the  road  ran 
through  the  heart  of  the  city,  and  by  reason 
of  the  continual  shouting  of  the  mwishis^  not 
more  than  ten  thousand  of  the  fifty  thousand 
people  of  Boondi  knew  for  what  purpose  the 
Sahib  was  journeying    through   their    midst. 


Letters  of  Marque  185 

Cataract  was  the  most  prevalent  affliction, 
cataract  in  its  worst  forms,  and  it  was,  there- 
fore, necessary  that  men  should  come  very 
close  to  look  at  the  stranger.  They  were  in  no 
sense  rude,  but  they  stared  devoutly.  "  He 
has  not  come  for  shikar,  and  he  will  not  take 
petitions.  He  has  come  to  see  the  place,  and 
God  knows  what  he  is."  The  description  was 
quite  correct,  as  far  as  it  went  ;  but,  somehow 
or  another,  when  shouted  out  at  four  cross- 
ways  in  the  midst  of  a  very  pleasant  little 
gathering  it  did  not  seem  to  add  to  dignity  or 
command  respect. 

It  has  been  written  "  the  coup  d'ceil  of  the 
castellated  Palace  of  Boondi,  from  whichever 
side  you  approach  it,  is  perhaps  the  most 
striking  in  India.  Whoever  has  seen  the 
Palace  of  Boondi  can  easily  picture  to  him- 
self the  hanging  gardens  of  Semiramis."  This 
is  true — and  more  too.  To  give  on  paper 
any  adequate  idea  of  the  Bondi-ki-Mahal  is 
impossible.  Jeypore  Palace  may  be  called  the 
Versailles  of  India  ;  Udaipur's  House  of 
State  is  dwarfed  by  the  hills  round  it  and  the 
spread  of  the  Pichola  Lake  ;  Jodhpur's  House 
of  Strife,  gray  towers  on  red  rock,  is  the  work 
of  giants,  but  the  Palace  of  Boondi,  even  in 
broad  daylight,  is  such  a  Palace  as  men  build 
for  themselves  in  uneasy  dreams — the  work 
of  goblins  more  than  of  men.  It  is  built  into 
and  out  of  the  hillside,  in  gigantic  terrace  on 
terrace,  and  dominates  the  whole  of  the  city. 
But  a  detailed  description  of  it  were  useless. 


1 86  Letters  of  Marque 

Owing  to  the  dip  of  the  valley  in  which  the 
city  stands,  it  can  only  be  well  seen  from  one 
place,  the  main  road  of  the  city  ;  and  from 
that  point  looks  like  an  avalanche  of  masonry 
ready  to  rush  down  and  block  the  gorge.  Like 
all  the  other  Palaces  of  Rajputana,  it  is  the 
work  of  many  hands,  and  the  present  Raja 
has  thrown  out  a  bastion  of  no  small  size 
on  one  of  the  lower  levels,  which  has  been 
four  or  five  years  in  the  building.  No  one 
knows  where  the  hill  begins  and  where  the 
Palace  ends.  Men  say  that  there  are  sub- 
terranean chambers  leading  into  the  heart 
of  the  hills,  and  passages  communicating 
with  the  extreme  limits  of  Taragarh,  the 
giant  fortress  that  crowns  the  hill  and  flanks 
the  whole  of  the  valley  on  the  Palace  side. 
They  say  that  there  is  as  much  room  under 
as  above  ground,  and  that  none  have  tra- 
versed the  whole  extent  of  the  Palace.  Look- 
ing at  it  from  below,  the  Englishman  could 
readily  believe  that  nothing  was  impossible 
for  those  who  had  built  it.  The  dominant 
impression  was  of  height — height  that  heaved 
itself  out  of  the  hillside  and  weighed  upon 
the  eyelids  of  the  beholder.  The  steep  slope 
of  the  land  had  helped  the  builders  in  secur- 
ing this  effect.  From  the  main  road  of  the 
city  a  steep  stone-paved  ascent  led  to  the 
first  gate — name  not  communicated  by  the 
zealous  following.  Two  gaudily  painted  fishes 
faced  each  other  over  the  arch,  and  there 
was  little  except  glaring  color  ornamentation 


Letters  of  Marque  187 

visible.  This  gate  gave  into  wliat  they  called 
the  chowJz  of  the  Palace,  and  one  had  need  to 
look  twice  ere  realizing  that  this  open  space, 
crammed  with  human  life,  was  a  spur  of  the 
hill  on  which  the  Palace  stood,  paved  and  built 
over.  There  had  been  little  attempt  at  level- 
ing the  ground.  The  foot-worn  stones  fol- 
lowed the  contours  of  the  ground,  and  ran  up 
to  the  walls  of  the  Palace  smooth  as  glass. 
Immediately  facing  the  Gate  of  the  Fish  was 
the  Quarter-Guard  barracks,  a  dark  and  dirty 
room,  and  here,  in  a  chamber  hollowed  out  in 
a  wall,  were  stored  the  big  drums  of  State,  the 
iiakarras.  The  appearance  of  the  Englishman 
seemed  to  be  the  signal  for  smiting  the  big- 
gest of  all,  and  the  dull  thunder  rolled  up  the 
Palace  chowk,  and  came  back  from  the  un- 
pierced  Palace  walls  in  hollow  groaning.  It 
was  an  eerie  welcome — this  single,  sullen 
boom.  In  this  enclosure,  four  hundred  years 
ago,  if  the  legend  be  true,  a  son  of  the  great 
Rao  Bando,  who  dreamed  a  dream  as  Pharaoh 
did  and  saved  Boondi  from  famine,  left  a  little 
band  of  Haras  to  wait  his  bidding  while  he 
went  up  into  the  Palace  and  slew  his  two  un- 
cles who  had  usurped  the  throne  and  aban- 
doned the  faith  of  their  fathers.  When  he 
had  pierced  one  and  hacked  the  other,  as 
they  sat  alone  and  unattended,  he  called  out 
to  his  followers,  who  made  a  slaughter-house 
of  the  enclosure  and  cut  up  the  usurpers'  ad- 
herents. At  the  best  of  times  men  slip  on 
these  smooth  stones  ;  and  when  the  place  was 


1 88  Letters  of  Marque 

swimming  in  blood,  foothold  must  have  been 
treacherous  indeed. 

An  inquiry  for  the  place  of  the  murder  of 
the  uncles — it  is  marked  by  a  staircase  slab, 
or  Tod,  the  accurate,  is  at  fault — was  met 
by  the  answer  that  the  Treasury  was  close 
at  hand.  They  speak  a  pagan  tongue 
in  Boondi,  swallow  half  their  words;  and 
adulterate  the  remainder  with  local  patois. 
What  can  be  extracted  from  a  people  who 
call  four  miles  variously  do  kosh,  do  kush, 
dhi  hkas,  doo-a  kot/i,  and  diakast  all  one  word  ? 
The  country-folk  are  quite  unintelligible ; 
which  simplifies  matters.  It  is  the  catching 
of  a  shadow  of  a  meaning  here  and  there,  the 
hunting  for  directions  cloaked  in  dialect,  that 
is  annoying.  Foregoing  his  archseological 
researches,  the  Englishman  sought  the  Treas- 
ury. He  took  careful  notes  ;  he  even  made 
a  very  bad  drawing,  but  the  Treasury  of 
Boondi  defied  pinning  down  before  the  pub- 
lic. There  was  a  gash  in  the  brown  flank  of 
the  Palace — and  this  gash  was  filled  with 
people.  A  broken  bees'  comb  with  the  whole 
hive  busily  at  work  on  repairs  will  give  a  very 
fair  idea  of  this  extraordinary  place — the 
Heart  of  Boondi.  The  sunlight  was  very 
vivid  without  and  the  shadows  were  heavy 
within,  so  that  little  could  be  seen  except  this 
clinging  mass  of  humanity  wriggling  like 
maggots  in  a  carcass.  A  stone  staircase  ran 
up  to  a  rough  veranda  built  out  of  the  wall, 
and  in  the  wall  was  a  cave-like  room,   the 


Letters  of  Marque  189 

guardian  of  whose  depths  was  one  of  the  re- 
fined financial  classes,  a  man  with  very  small 
hands  and  soft,  low  voice.  He  was  girt  with 
a  sword,  and  held  authority  over  the  Durbar 
funds.  He  referred  the  Englishman  courte- 
ously to  another  branch  of  the  department,  to 
find  which  necessitated  a  blundering  progress 
up  another  narrow  staircase  crowded  with 
loungers  of  all  kinds.  Here  everything  shone 
from  constant  contact  of  bare  feet  and  hurry- 
ing bare  shoulders.  The  staircase  was  the 
thing  that,  seen  from  without,  had  produced 
the  bees'  comb  impression.  At  the  top  was 
a  long  veranda  shaded  from  the  sun,  and 
here  the  Boondi  Treasury  worked,  under  the 
guidance  of  a  gray-haired  old  man,  whose 
sword  lay  by  the  side  of  his  comfortably 
wadded  cushion.  He  controlled  twenty  or 
thirty  writers,  each  wrapped  round  a  huge, 
country  paper  account-book,  and  each  far 
too  busy  to  raise  his  eyes. 

The  babble  on  the  staircase  might  have 
been  the  noise  of  the  sea  so  far  as  these  men 
were  concerned.  It  ebbed  and  flowed  in 
regular  beats,  and  spread  out  far  into  the 
courtyard  below.  Now  and  again  the  dick- 
click-cUck  of  a  scabbard  tip  being  dragged 
against  the  wall,  cut  the  dead  sound  of  tramp- 
ing naked  feet,  and  a  soldier  would  stumble 
up  the  narrow  way  into  the  sunlight.  He 
was  received,  and  sent  back  or  forward  by  a 
knot  of  keen-eyed  loungers,  who  seemed  to 
act  as  a  buffer  between  the  peace  of  the  Se- 


1 90  Letters  of  Marque 

cretariat  and  the  pandemonium  of  the  Admin- 
istrative. Saises  and  grass-cutters,  mahouts  of 
elephants,  brokers,  mahajuns,  villagers  from 
the  district,  and  here  and  there  a  shock-headed 
aborigine,  swelled  the  mob  on  and  at  the  foot 
of  the  stairs.  As  they  came  up,  they  met  the 
buffer-men  who  spoke  in  low  voices  and  ap- 
peared to  filter  them  according  to  their  merits. 
Some  were  sent  to  the  far  end  of  the  veranda, 
where  everything  melted  away  in  a  fresh 
crowd  of  dark  faces.  Others  were  sent  back, 
and  joined  the  detachment  shuffling  for  their 
shoes  in  the  chowk.  One  servant  of  the 
Palace  withdrew  himself  to  the  open,  under- 
neath the  veranda,  and  there  sat  yapping 
from  time  to  time  like  a  hungry  dog  :  "  The 
grass  !  The  grass  !  The  grass  !  "  But  the 
men  with  the  account-books  never  stirred. 
And  they  bowed  their  heads  gravely  and 
made  entry  or  erasure,  turning  back  the  rus- 
tling leaves.  Not  often  does  a  reach  of  the 
River  of  Life  so  present  itself  that  it  can  with- 
out alteration  be  transferred  to  canvas.  But 
the  Treasury  of  Boondi,  the  view  up  the  long 
veranda,  stood  complete  and  ready  for  any 
artist  who  cared  to  make  it  his  own.  And  by 
that  lighter  and  less  malicious  irony  of  Fate, 
who  is  always  giving  nuts  to  those  who  have 
no  teeth,  the  picture  was  clinched  and  brought 
together  by  a  winking,  brass  hookah-bowl  of 
quaint  design,  pitched  carelessly  upon  a  roll 
of  dull  red  cloth  in  the  foreground.  The  faces 
of  the  accountants  were  of  pale  gold,  for  they 


Letters  of  Marque  191 

were  an  untanned  breed,  and  the  face  of  the 
old  man,  their  controller,  was  frosted  silver. 

It  was  a  strange  Treasury,  but  no  other 
could  have  suited  the  Palace.  The  English- 
man watched,  open-mouthed,  blaming  himself 
because  he  could  not  catch  the  meaning  of  the 
orders  given  to  the  flying  chaprassies,  nor 
make  anything  of  the  hum  in  the  veranda 
and  the  tumult  on  the  stairs.  The  old  man 
took  the  commonplace  currency  note  and 
announced  his  willingness  to  give  change  in 
silver.  "  We  have  no  small  notes  here,"  he 
said.  "  They  are  not  wanted.  In  a  little 
while,  when  you  next  bring  the  Honor  of 
your  Presence  this  way,  you  shall  find  the 
silver." 

The  Englishman  was  taken  down  the  steps 
and  fell  into  the  arms  of  a  bristly  giant  who 
had  left  his  horse  in  the  courtyard,  and  the 
giant  spoke  at  length,  waving  his  arms  in  the 
air,  but  the  Englishman  could  not  understand 
him  and  dropped  into  the  hubbub  at  the  Palace 
foot.  Except  the  main  lines  of  the  building 
there  is  nothing  straight  or  angular  about  it. 
The  rush  of  people  seems  to  have  rounded 
and  softened  every  corner,  as  a  river  grinds 
down  boulders.  From  the  lowest  tier,  two 
zigzags,  all  of  rounded  stones  sunk  in  mortar, 
took  the  Englishman  to  a  gate  where  two 
carved  elephants  were  thrusting  at  each  other 
over  the  arch  ;  and,  because  neither  he  nor 
anyone  round  him  could  give  the  gate  a  name, 
he    called  it   the   ''Gate  of   the  Elephants." 


192  Letters  of  Marque 

Here  the  noise  from  the  Treasury  was  soft- 
ened, and  entry  through  the  gate  brought  him 
into  a  well-known  world,  the  drowsy  peace 
of  a  King's  Palace.  There  was  a  courtyard 
surrounded  by  stables,  in  which  were  kept 
chosen  horses,  and  two  or  three  grooms  were 
sleeping  in  the  sun.  There  was  no  other  life 
except  the  whir  and  coo  of  the  pigeons.  In 
time — though  there  really  is  no  such  a  thing 
as  time  off  the  line  of  railway — an  official  ap- 
peared begirt  with  the  skewer-like  keys  that 
open  the  native  bayonet-locks,  each  from  six 
inches  to  a  foot  long.  Where  was  the  Raj 
Mahal  in  which,  sixty-six  years  ago,  Tod  for- 
mally installed  Ram  Singh,  "who  is  now  in 
his  eleventh  year,  fair  and  with  a  lively,  in- 
telligent cast  of  face  "  ?  The  warden  made 
no  answer,  but  led  to  a  room,  overlooking  the 
courtyard,  in  which  two  armed  men  stood 
before  an  empty  throne  of  white  marble. 
They  motioned  silently  that  none  must  pass 
inmediately  before  the  seat  of  the  King,  but 
go  round,  keeping  to  the  far  side  of  the  double 
row  of  pillars.  Near  the  walls  were  stone 
slabs  pierced  to  take  the  butts  of  long,  ven- 
omous, black  bamboo  lances ;  rude  coffers 
were  disposed  about  the  room,  and  ruder 
sketches  of  Ganesh  adorned  the  walls.  "  The 
men,"  said  the  warden,  "  watch  here  day  and 
night  because  this  place  is  the  Rutton  Daulat. " 
That,  you  will  concede,  is  lucid  enough.  He 
who  does  not  understand  it,  may  go  to  for  a 
thick-headed  barbarian. 


Letters  of  Marque  193 

From  the  Rutton  Daulat  the  warden  un- 
locked doors  that  led  into  a  hall  of  audience 
— the  Chutter  Mahal — built  by  Raja  Chutter 
Lai,  who  was  killed  more  than  two  hundred 
years  ago  in  the  latter  days  of  Shah  Jehan  for 
whom  he  fought.  Two  rooms,  each  supported 
on  double  rows  of  pillars,  flank  the  open  space, 
in  the  center  of  which  is  a  marble  reservoir. 
Here  the  Englishman  looked  anxiously  for 
some  of  the  atrocities  of  the  West,  and  was 
pleased  to  find  that,  with  the  exception  of  a 
vase  of  artificial  flowers  and  a  clock,  there  was 
nothing  that  jarred  with  the  exquisite  pillars, 
and  the  raw  blaze  of  color  in  the  roofs  of  the 
rooms.  In  the  middle  of  these  impertinent 
observations,  something  sighed — sighed  like 
a  distressed  ghost.  Unaccountable  voices  are 
at  all  times  unpleasant,  especially  when  the 
hearer  is  some  hundred  feet  or  so  above  ground 
in  an  unknown  Palace  in  an  unknown  land. 
A  gust  of  wind  had  found  its  way  through  one 
of  the  latticed  balconies,  and  had  breathed 
upon  a  thin  plate  of  metal,  some  astrological 
instrument,  slung  gongwise  on  a  tripod.  The 
tone  was  as  soft  as  that  of  an  ^olian  harp, 
and,  because  of  the  surroundings,  infinitely 
more  plaintive. 

There  was  an  inlaid  ivory  door,  set  in  lintel 
and  posts  crusted  with  looking-glass — all  ap- 
parently old  work.  This  opened  into  a  dark- 
ened room  where  there  were  gilt  and  silver 
charpoys,  and  portraits,  in  the  native  fashion, 
of  the  illustrious  dead  of  Boondi.  Beyond  the 
13 


194  Letters  of  Marque 

darkness  was  a  balcony  clinging  to  the  sheer 
side  of  the  Palace,  and  it  was  then  that  the 
Englishman  realized  to  what  a  height  he  had 
climbed  without  knowing  it.  He  looked  down 
upon  the  bustle  of  the  Treasury  and  the  stream 
of  life  flowing  into  and  out  of  the  Gate  of  the 
Fishes  where  the  big  drums  lie.  Lifting  his 
eyes,  he  saw  how  Boondi  City  had  built  itself, 
spreading  from  west  to  east  as  the  confined 
valley  became  too  narrow  and  the  years  more 
peaceable.  The  Boondi  hills  are  the  barrier 
that  separates  the  stony,  uneven  ground  near 
Deoli  from  the  flats  of  Kotah,  twenty  miles 
away.  From  the  Palace  balcony  the  road  to 
the  eye  is  clear  to  the  banks  of  the  Chumbul 
River,  which  was  the  Debatable  Ford  in  times 
gone  by  and  was  leaped,  as  all  rivers  with  any 
pretensions  to  a  pedigree  have  been,  by  more 
than  one  magic  horse.  Northward  and  east- 
erly the  hills  run  out  to  Indurgarh,  and  south- 
ward and  westerly  to  territory  marked  "  dis- 
puted "  on  the  map  in  the  present  year  of 
grace.  From  this  balcony  the  Raja  can  see 
to  the  limit  of  his  territory  eastward,  his  em- 
pire all  under  his  hand.  He  is,  or  the  Politi- 
cals err,  that  same  Ram  Singh  who  was  in- 
stalled by  Tod  in  182 1,  and  for  whose  success 
in  killing  his  first  deer,  Tod  was,  by  the  Queen- 
Mother  of  Boondi,  bidden  to  rejoice.  To-day 
the  people  of  Boondi  say:  "This  Durbar  is 
very  old  :  so  old  that  few  men  remember  its 
beginning,  for  that  was  in  our  father's  time." 
It  is  related  also  of  Boondi  that,  on  the  occa- 


Letters  of  Marque  195 

sion  of  the  Queen's  Jubilee,  they  said  proudly 
that  their  ruler  had  reigned  for  sixty  years, 
and  he  was  a  man.  They  saw  nothing  aston- 
ishing in  the  fact  of  a  woman  having  reigned 
for  fifty.  History  does  not  say  whether  they 
jubilated  ;  for  there  are  no  Englishmen  in 
Boondi  to  write  accounts  of  demonstrations 
and  foundation-stone  laying  to  the  daily  news- 
papers, and  Boondi  is  very,  very  small.  In  the 
early  morning  you  may  see  a  man  pantingly 
chased  out  of  the  city  by  another  man  with  a 
naked  sword.  This  is  the  mail  and  the  mail- 
guard;  and  the  effect  is  as  though  runner  and 
swordsman  lay  under  a  doom — the  one  to  fiy 
with  the  fear  of  death  always  before  him  as 
men  fly  in  dreams,  and  the  other  to  perpetually 
fail  of  his  revenge. 

The  warden  unlocked  more  doors  and  led 
the  Englishman  still  higher,  but  into  a  garden 
— a  heavily  timbered  garden  with  a  tank  for 
gold  fish  in  the  midst.  For  once  the  impas- 
sive following  smiled  when  they  saw  that  the 
Englishman  was  impressed. 

"  This,"  said  they,  "  is  the  Rang  Bilas." 
"  But  who  made  it  ?  "  "  Who  knows  ?  It 
was  made  long  ago."  The  Englishman 
looked  over  the  garden-wall,  a  foot-high 
parapet,  and  shuddered.  There  was  only  the 
flat  side  of  the  Palace,  and  a  drop  on  to  the 
stones  of  the  zigzag  scores  of  feet  below. 
Above  him  was  the  riven  hillside  and  the 
decaying  wall  of  Taragarh,  and  behind  him 
this  fair  garden,  hung  like   Mahomet's  coffin, 


196  Letters  of  Marque 

but  full  of  the  noise  of  birds  and  the  talking 
of  the  wind  in  the  branches.  The  warden 
entered  into  a  lengthy  explanation  of  the 
nature  of  the  delusion,  showing  how — but  he 
was  stopped  before  he  was  finished.  His 
listener  did  not  want  to  know  "  how  the  trick 
was  done."  Here  was  the  garden,  and  there 
were  three  or  four  stories  climbed  to  reach  it. 
At  one  end  of  the  garden  was  a  small  room, 
under  treatment  by  native  artists  who  were 
painting  the  panels  with  historical  pictures, 
in  distemper.  Theirs  was  florid  polychromatic 
art,  but  skirting  the  floor  was  a  series  of  fres- 
coes in  red,  black,  and  white,  of  combats  with 
elephants,  bold  and  temperate  as  good  Ger- 
man work.  They  were  worn  and  defaced  in 
places  ;  but  the  hand  of  some  bygone  limner, 
who  did  not  know  how  to  waste  a  line,  showed 
under  the  bruises  and  scratches,  and  put  the 
newer  work  to  shame. 

Here  the  tour  of  the  Palace  ended  ;  and  it 
must  be  remembered  that  the  Englishman 
had  not  gone  the  depth  of  three  rooms  into 
one  flank.  Acres  of  building  lay  to  the  right 
of  him,  and  above  the  lines  of  the  terraces  he 
could  see  the  tops  of  green  trees.  "  Who 
knew  how  many  gardens,  such  as  the  Rang 
Bilas,  were  to  be  found  in  the  Palace  ?  "  No 
one  answered  directly,  but  all  said  that  there 
were  many.  The  warden  gathered  up  his 
keys,  and,  locking  each  door  behind  him  as 
he  passed,  led  the  way  down  to  earth.  But 
before  he  had  crossed  the  garden  the  English- 


Letters  of  Marque  197 

man  heard,  deep  down  in  the  bowels  of  the 
Palace,  a  woman's  voice  singing,  and  the 
voice  rang  as  do  voices  in  caves.  All  Palaces 
in  India  excepting  dead  ones,  such  as  that  of 
Amber,  are  full  of  eyes.  In  some,  as  has  been 
said,  the  idea  of  being  watched  is  stronger 
than  in  others.  In  Boondi  Palace  it  was 
overpowering — being  far  worse  than  in  the 
green  shuttered  corridors  of  Jodhpur.  There 
were  trap-doors  on  the  tops  of  terraces,  and 
windows  veiled  in  foliage,  and  bull's-eyes  set 
low  in  unexpected  walls,  and  many  other 
peep-holes  and  places  of  vantage.  In  the  end, 
the  Englishman  looked  devoutly  at  the  floor, 
but  when  the  voice  of  the  woman  came  up 
from  under  his  feet,  he  felt  that  there  was 
nothing  left  for  him  but  to  go.  Yet,  excepting 
only  this  voice,  there  was  deep  silence  every- 
where, and  nothing  could  be  seen. 

The  warden  returned  to  the  Chutter  Mahal 
to  pick  up  a  lost  key.  The  brass  table  of 
the  planets  was  sighing  softly  to  itself  as 
it  swung  to  and  fro  in  the  wind.  That  was 
the  last  view  of  the  interior  of  the  Palace, 
the  empty  court,  and  the  swinging,  sighing 
astrolabe. 

About  two  hours  afterwards,  when  he  had 
reached  the  other  side  of  the  valley  and  seen 
the  full  extent  of  the  buildings,  the  English- 
man began  to  realize  first  that  he  had  not 
been  taken  through  one-tenth  of  the  Palace  ; 
and  secondly,  that  he  would  do  well  to  meas- 
ure   its    extent    by   acres,    in    preference  to 


198  Letters  of  Marque 

meaner  measures.  But  what  made  him  blush 
hotly,  all  alone  among  the  tombs  on  the 
hillside,  was  the  idea  that  he  with  his  ridicu- 
lous demands  for  eggs,  firewood,  and  sweet 
drinking  water  should  have  clattered  and 
chattered  through  any  part  of  it  at  all. 

He  began  to  understand  why  Boondi  does 
not  encourage  Englishmen. 


Letters  of  Marque  199 


XVIII. 

"  Let  us  go  hence  my  songs,  she  will  not 
hear.  Let  us  go  hence  together  without 
fear."  But  Ram  Baksh  the  irrepressible  sang 
it  in  altogether  a  baser  key.  He  came  by 
night  to  the  pavilion  on  the  lake,  while  the 
sepoys  were  cooking  their  fish,  and  reiterated 
his  whine  about  the  devildom  of  the  country 
into  which  the  Englishman  had  dragged  him. 
Padre  Martum  Sahib  would  never  have  thus 
treated  the  owner  of  sixteen  horses,  all  fast 
and  big  ones,  and  eight  superior  "  shutin-ton- 
gas."  "  Let  us  get  away, "  said  Ram  Baksh. 
''  You  are  not  here  for  shikar,  and  the  water 
is  very  bad."  It  was  indeed,  except  when 
taken  from  the  lake,  and  then  it  only  tasted 
fishy.  "  We  will  go,  Ram  Baksh,"  said  the 
Englishman.  "  We  will  go  in  the  very  early 
morning,  and  in  the  mean  time  here  is  fish  to 
stay  your  stomach  with." 

When  a  transparent  piece  of  canvas,  which 
fails  by  three  feet  to  reach  ceiling  or  floor, 
is  the  only  bar  between  the  East  and  the 
West,  he  would  be  a  churl  indeed  who  stood 
upon  invidious  race  distinctions.  The  Eng- 
lishman went  out  and  fraternized  with  the 
Military — the  four-rupee  soldiers  of  Boondi 
who  guarded  him.  They  were  armed,  one 
with  an  old  Tower  musket  crazy  as  to  nipple 


2  00  Letters  of  Marque 

and  hammer,  one  with  a  native-made  smooth- 
bore, and  one  with  a  composite  contrivance — 
English  sporting  muzzle-loader  stock  with  a 
compartment  for  a  jointed  cleaning-rod  and 
hammered  octagonal  native  barrel,  wire-fas- 
tened, a  tuft  of  cotton  on  the  foresight.  All 
three  guns  were  loaded,  and  the  owners  were 
very  proud  of  them.  They  were  simple  folk, 
these  men-at-arms,  with  an  inordinate  appetite 
for  broiled  fish.  They  were  not  always  sol- 
diers they  explained.  They  cultivated  their 
crops  until  called  for  any  duty  that  might 
turn  up.  They  were  paid  now  and  again,  at  in- 
tervals, but  they  were  paid  in  coin  and  not  in 
kind. 

The  77iu7ishis  and  the  vakils  and  the  run- 
ners had  departed  after  seeing  that  the  Eng- 
lishman was  safe  for  the  night,  so  the  free- 
dom of  the  little  gathering  on  the  bund  was 
unrestrained.  The  chowkidar  Q,2sa^  out  of  his 
cave  into  the  firelight.  He  took  a  fish  and 
incontinently  choked,  for  he  was  a  feeble  old 
man.  Set  right  again,  he  launched  into  a  very 
long  and  quite  unintelligible  story  while  the 
sepoys  said  reverently  :  "  He  is  an  old  man 
and  remembers  many  things."  As  he  babbled, 
the  night  shut  in  upon  the  lake  and  the  valley 
of  Boondi.  The  last  cows  were  driven  into 
the  water  for  their  evening  drink,  the  water- 
fowl and  the  monkeys  went  to  bed,  and  the 
stars  came  out  and  made  a  new  firmament  in 
the  untroubled  bosom  of  the  lake.  The  light 
of  the  fire  showed  the  ruled  lines  of  the  bund 


Letters  of  Marque  201 

springing  out  of  the  soft  darkness  of  the 
wooded  hill  on  the  left  and  disappearing  into 
the  solid  darkness  of  a  bare  hill  on  the  right. 
Below  the  bund  a  man  cried  aloud  to  keep 
wandering  pigs  from  the  gardens  whose  tree- 
tops  rose  to  a  level  with  the  bund-edge. 
Beyond  the  trees  all  was  swaddled  in  gloom. 
When  the  gentle  buzz  of  the  unseen  city  died 
out,  it  seemed  as  though  the  bund  were  the 
very  Swordwide  Bridge  that  runs,  as  every 
one  knows,  between  this  world  and  the  next. 
The  water  lapped  and  muttered,  and  now  and 
again  a  fish  jumped,  with  the  shatter  of 
broken  glass,  blurring  the  peace  of  the  re- 
flected heavens. 

"  And  duller  should  I  be  than  some  fat  weed 
That  rolls  itself  at  ease  on  Lethe's  wharf." 

The  poet  who  wrote  those  lines  knew  noth- 
ing whatever  of  Lethe's  wharf.  The  English- 
man had  found  it,  and  it  seemed  to  him,  at 
that  hour  and  in  that  place,  that  it  would  be 
good  and  desirable  never  to  return  to  the 
Commissioners  and  the  Deputy  Commissioners 
any  more,  but  to  lie  at  ease  on  the  warm  sun- 
lit bund  by  day,  and,  at  night,  near  a  shadow- 
breeding  fire,  to  listen  for  the  strangled  voices 
and  whispers  of  the  darkness  in  the  hills. 
Thus  after  as  long  a  life  as  the  chozvkidat^ s 
dying  easily  and  pleasantly,  and  being  buried 
in  a  red  tomb  on  the  borders  of  the  lake. 
Surely  no  one  would  come  to  reclaim  him 
across  those  weary,  weary  miles  of  rock-strewn 


202  Letters  of  Marque 

road  ....  "And  this,"  said  the  chowkidar, 
raising  his  voice  to  enforce  attention,  "  is  true 
talk.  Everybody  knows  it,  and  now  the  Sahib 
knows  it.  I  am  an  old  man. "  He  fell  asleep 
once,  with  his  head  on  the  clay  pipe  that 
was  doing  duty  for  a  ^vhole  huqa  among  the 
company.  He  had  been  talking  for  nearly  a 
quarter  of  an  hour. 

See  how  great  a  man  is  the  true  novelist ! 
Six  or  seven  thousand  miles  away,  Walter 
Besant  of  the  Golden  Pen  had  created  Mr. 
Maliphant — the  ancient  of  figurehead,  in  the 
All  So7is  and  Conditions  of  Men,  and  here,  in 
Boondi,  the  Englishman  had  found  Mr.  Mali- 
phant in  the  withered  flesh.  So  he  drank 
Walter  Besant's  health  in  the  water  of  the 
Burra  Talao.  One  of  the  sepoys  turned  him- 
self round,  with  a  clatter  of  accouterments, 
shifted  his  blanket  under  his  elbow,  and  told 
a  tale.  It  had  something  to  do  with  his  khet^ 
and  a  gimna  which  certainly  w^as  not  sugar- 
cane. It  was  elusive.  At  times  it  seemed 
that  it  was  a  woman,  then  changed  to  a  right 
of  way,  and  lastly  appeared  to  be  a  tax;  but 
the  more  he  attempted  to  get  at  its  meaning 
through  the  curious  patois  in  which  its  doings 
or  its  merit  were  enveloped,  the  more  dazed 
the  Englishman  became.  None  the  less  the 
story  was  a  fine  one,  embellished  with  much 
dramatic  gesture  which  told  powerfully  against 
the  firelight.  Then  the  second  sepoy,  who 
had  been  enjoying  the  pipe  all  the  time,  told 
a  tale,  the  purport  of  which  was  that  the  dead 


Letters  of  Marque  203 

in  the  tombs  round  the  lake  were  wont  to  get 
up  of  nights  and  go  hunting.  This  was  a  fine 
and  ghostly  story  ;  and  its  dismal  effect  was 
much  heightened  by  some  clamor  of  the 
night  far  up  the  lake  beyond  the  floor  of  stars. 

The  third  sepoy  said  nothing.  He  had 
eaten  too  much  fish  and  was  fast  asleep  by 
the  side  of  the  chozvkidar. 

They  were  all  Mahometans,  and  conse- 
quently all  easy  to  deal  with.  A  Hindu  is  an 
excellent  person,  but  .  .  .  but  .  .  .  there  is  no 
knowing  what  is  in  his  heart,  and  he  is  hedged 
about  with  so  many  strange  observances. 

This  Hindu  or  Musalman  bent,  which  each 
Englishman's  mind  must  take  before  he  has 
been  three  years  in  the  country,  is,  of  course, 
influenced  by  Province  or  Presidency.  In 
Rajputana  generally,  the  Political  swears  by 
the  Hindu,  and  holds  that  the  Mahometan 
is  untrustworthy.  But  a  man  who  will  eat 
with  you  and  take  your  tobacco,  sinking  the 
fiction  that  it  has  been  doctored  with  infidel 
wines,  cannot  be  very  bad  after  all. 

That  night  when  the  tales  were  all  told  and 
the  guard,  bless  them,  were  snoring  peaceably 
in  the  starlight,  a  man  came  stealthily  into  the 
enclosure  of  canvas  and  woke  the  Englishman, 
muttering  "  Sahib,  Sahib,"  in  his  ear.  It  was 
no  robber  but  some  poor  devil  with  a  petition 
— a  grimy,  welted  paper.  He  was  absolutely 
unintelligible,  and  stammered  almost  to 
dumbness.  He  stood  by  the  bed,  alternately 
bowing  to  the  earth  and  standing  erect,  his 


204  Letters  of  Marque 

arms  spread  aloft,  and  his  whole  body  work- 
ing as  he  tried  to  force  out  some  rebellious 
word  in  a  key  that  should  not  wake  the  men 
without.  What  could  the  Englishman  do  ? 
He  was  no  Government  servant,  and  had  no 
concern  with  petitions.  The  man  clicked  and 
choked  and  gasped  in  his  desperate  desire  to 
make  the  Sahib  understand.  But  it  was  no 
use  ;  and  in  the  end  he  departed  as  he  had 
come — bowed,  abject,  and  unintelligible. 
****** 

Let  every  word  written  against  Ganesh  be 
rescinded.  It  was  by  his  ordering  that  the 
Englishman  saw  such  a  dawn  on  the  Burra 
Talao  as  he  had  never  before  set  eyes  on. 
Every  fair  morning  is  a  reprint,  blurred  per- 
haps, of  the  First  Day  ;  but  this  splendor  was 
a  thing  to  be  put  aside  from  all  other  days 
and  remembered.  The  stars  had  no  fire  in 
them  and  the  fish  had  stopped  jumping,  when 
the  black  water  of  the  lake  paled  and  grew 
gray.  While  he  watched  it  seemed  to  the 
Englishman  that  voices  on  the  hills  were  in- 
toning the  first  verses  of  Genesis.  The  gray 
light  moved  on  the  face  of  the  waters  till,  with 
no  interval,  a  blood-red  glare  shot  up  from  the 
horizon  and,  inky  black  against  the  intense 
red,  a  giant  crane  floated  out  towards  the  sun. 
In  the  still-shadowed  city  the  great  Palace 
Drum  boomed  and  throbbed  to  show  that  the 
gates  were  open,  while  the  dawn  swept  up  the 
valley  and  made  all  things  clear.  The  blind 
man  who  said,  "  The  blast  of  a  trumpet    is 


Letters  of  Marque  205 

red,"  spoke  only  the  truth.  The  breaking  of 
the  red  dawn  is  like  the  blast  of  a  trumpet. 

"What,''  said  the  choivkidar^  picking  the 
ashes  of  the  overnight  fire  out  of  his  beard, 
"  what,  I  say,  are  five  eggs  or  twelve  eggs  to 
such  a  Raj  as  ours  ?  What  also  are  fowls — 
what  are  ''..."  There  was  no  talk  of  fowls. 
Where  is  the  fowl-man  from  whom  you  got  the 
eggs  t  "  "  He  is  here.  No,  he  is  there.  I  do 
not  know.  I  am  an  old  man,  and  I  and  the 
Raj  supply  everything  without  price.  The 
fowl-man  will  be  paid  by  the  State — liberally 
paid.  Let  the  Sahib  be  happy.  Wah, 
Wall." 

Experience  of  forced  labor  in  Himalayan 
villages  had  made  the  Englishman  very  tender 
in  raising  supplies  that  were  given  gratis  ; 
but  the  fowl-man  could  not  be  found,  and  the 
value  of  his  wares  was,  later,  paid  to  Ganesh 
— Ganesh  of  Situr,  for  that  is  the  name  of 
the  village  full  of  priests,  through  which  the 
Englishman  had  passed  in  ignorance  two  days 
before.  A  double  handful  of  sweet  smelling 
flowers  made  the  receipt. 

Boondi  was  wide-awake  before  half-past 
seven  in  the  morning.  Her  hunters,  on  foot 
and  on  horse,  were  filing  towards  the  Deoli 
Gate.  They  would  hunt  tiger  and  deer  they 
said,  even  wdth  matchlocks  and  muzzle  load- 
ers as  uncouth  as  those  the  Sahib  saw.  They 
were  a  merry  company  and  chaffed  the  Quar- 
ter-Guard at  the  gate  unmercifully  when  a 
bullock-cart,   laden    with   the    cases   of   the 


2o6  Letters  of  Marque 

*'  Batonm  Naphtha  and  Oil  Company  "  blocked 
the  road.  One  of  them  had  been  a  soldier  of 
the  Queen,  and,  excited  by  the  appearance  of 
a  Sahib,  did  so  rebuke  and  badger  the  Quar- 
ter-Guard for  their  slovenliness  that  they 
threatened  to  come  out  of  the  barracks  and 
destroy  him. 

So,  after  one  last  look  at  the  Palace  high 
up  the  hillside,  the  Englishman  was  borne 
away  along  the  Deoli  Road.  The  peculiarity 
of  Boondi  is  the  peculiarity  of  the  covered  pit- 
fall. One  does  not  see  it  till  one  falls  into  it. 
A  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  gate,  town  and 
Palace  were  invisible.  But  the  Englishman 
was  grieved  at  heart.  He  had  fallen  in  love 
with  Boondi  the  beautiful,  and  believed  that 
he  would  never  again  see  anything  half  so 
fair.  The  utter  untouchedness  of  the  town 
was  one-half  the  charm  and  its  association 
the  other.  Read  Tod,  who  is  far  too  good  to 
be  chipped  or  sampled  ;  read  Tod  luxuriously 
on  the  bund  of  the  Burra  Talao,  and  the  spirit 
of  the  place  will  enter  into  you  and  you  will 
be  happy. 

To  enjoy  life  thoroughly,  haste  and  bustle 
must  be  abandoned.  Ram  Baksh  has  said 
that  Englishmen  are  always  bothering  to  go 
forward,  and  for  this  reason,  though  beyond 
doubt  they  pay  well  and  readily,  are  not  wise 
men.  He  gave  utterance  to  this  philosophy 
after  he  had  mistaken  his  road  and  pulled  up 
in  what  must  have  been  a  disused  quarry  hard 
by   a    cane-field.     There   were  patches  and 


Letters  of  Marque  207 

pockets  of  cultivation  along  the  rocky  road, 
where  men  grew  cotton,  chillies,  tobacco,  and 
sugar-cane.  "  I  will  get  you  sugar-cane,"  said 
Ram  Baksh.  "Then  we  will  go  forward, 
and  perhaps  some  of  these  jungly-fools 
will  tell  us  where  the  road  is."  A  "  jungly 
fool,"  a  tender  of  goats,  did  in  time  appear, 
but  there  was  no  hurry  ;  the  sugar-cane  was 
sweet  and  purple  and  the  sun  warm. 

The  Englishman  lay  out  at  high  noon  on 
the  crest  of  a  rolling  upland  crowned  with 
rock,  and  heard,  as  a  loafer  had  told  him  he 
would  hear,  the  "  set  of  the  day,"  which  is  as 
easily  discernible  as  the  change  of  tone  be- 
tween the  rising  and  the  falling  tide.  At  a 
certain  hour  the  impetus  of  the  morning  dies 
out,  and  all  things,  living  and  inanimate,  turn 
their  thoughts  to  the  prophecy  of  the  coming 
night.  The  little  wandering  breezes  drop  for 
a  time,  and,  when  they  blow  afresh,  bring  the 
message.  The  "  set  of  the  day,"  as  the  loafer 
said,  has  changed,  the  machinery  is  beginning 
to  run  down,  the  unseen  tides  of  the  air  are 
falling.  This  moment  of  change  can  only  be 
felt  in  the  open  and  in  touch  with  the  earth, 
and  once  discovered,  seems  to  place  the  finder 
in  deep  accord  and  fellowship  with  all  things 
on  earth.  Perhaps  this  is  why  the  genuine 
loafer,  though  "  frequently  drunk,"  is  "  always 
polite  to  the  stranger,"  and  shows  such  a 
genial  tolerance  towards  the  weaknesses  of 
mankind,  black,  white,  or  brown. 

In  the  evening  when  the  jackals  were  scut- 


2o8  Letters  of  Marque 

tling  across  the  roads  and  the  cranes  had  gone 
to  roost,  came  Deoli  the  desolate,  and  an  un- 
pleasant meeting.  Six  days  away  from  his 
kind  had  bred  in  a  Cockney  heart  a  great  de- 
sire to  see  a  fellow-subject.  An  elaborate 
loaf  through  the  cantonment — fifteen  minutes' 
walk  from  end  to  end — showed  only  one  dis- 
tant dog-cart  and  a  small  English  child  with 
an  ayah.  There  was  grass  in  the  soldierly 
straight  roads,  and  some  of  the  cross-cuts  had 
never  been  used  at  all  since  the  days  when  the 
cantonment  had  been  first  laid  out.  In  the 
western  corner  lay  the  cemetery — the  only 
carefully  tended  and  newly  whitewashed  thing 
in  this  God-forgotten  place.  Some  years  ago 
a  man  had  said  good-by  to  the  Englishman  ; 
adding  cheerily  :  "  We  shall  meet  again. 
The  world's  a  very  little  place  y'know. " 

His  prophecy  was  a  true  one,  for  the  two 
met  indeed,  but  the  prophet  was  lying  in  Deoli 
Cemetery  near  the  well,  which  is  decorated  so 
ecclesiastically  with  funeral  urns. 


Letters  of  Marque  209 


XIX. 

In  the  morning  the  tonga  rattled  past  Deoli 
Cemetery  into  the  open, where  the  Deoli  Irregu- 
lars were  drilling.  They  marked  the  beginning 
of  civilization  and  white  shirts  ;  and  so  they 
seemed  altogether  detestable.  Yet  another 
day's  jolting,  enlivened  by  the  philosophy 
of  Ram  Baksh,  and  then  came  Nasirabad. 
The  last  pair  of  ponies  suggested  serious 
thought.  They  had  covered  eighteen  miles 
at  an  average  speed  of  eight  miles  an  hour, 
and  were  well-conditioned  little  rats.  "  A 
Colonel  Sahib  gave  me  this  one  for  a  present," 
said  Ram  Baksh,  flicking  the  near  one.  "  It 
was  his  child's  pony.  The  child  was  five 
years  old.  When  he  went  away,  the  Colonel 
Sahib  said  :  "  Ram  Baksh,  you  are  a  good 
man.  Never  have  I  seen  such  a  good  man. 
This  horse  is  yours."  Ram  Baksh  was  getting 
a  horse's  work  out  of  a  child's  pony.  Surely 
we  in  India  work  the  land  much  as  the 
Colonel  Sahib  worked  his  son's  mount ;  mak- 
ing it  do  child's  work  when  so  much  more  can 
be  screwed  out  of  it.  A  native  and  a  native 
State  deals  otherwise  with  horse  and  holding. 
Perhaps  our  extreme  scrupulousness  in  hand- 
ling may  be  statecraft,  but,  after  even  a  short 
sojourn  in  places  which  are  dealt  with  not  so 
tenderly,  it  seems  absurd.  There  are  States 
H 


210  Letters  of  Marque 

where  things  are  done,  and  done  without  pro- 
test, that  would  make  the  hair  of  the  educated 
native  stand  on  end  with  horror.  These 
things  are  of  course  not  expedient  to  write  ; 
because  their  publication  would  give  a  great 
deal  of  unnecessary  pain  and  heart-searching 
to  estimable  native  administrators  who  have 
the  hope  of  a  star  before  their  eyes  and  would 
not  better  matters  in  the  least. 

Note  this  fact  though.  With  the  exception 
of  such  journals  as,  occupying  a  central  posi- 
tion in  British  territory,  levy  blackmail  from 
the  neighboring  States,  there  are  no  indepen- 
dent papers  in  Rajputana.  A  King  may  start 
a  weekly,  to  encourage  a  taste  for  Sanskrit 
and  high  Hindi,  or  a  Prince  may  create  a 
Court  Chronicle  ;  but  that  is  all.  A  "  free 
press  "  is  not  allowed,  and  this  the  native 
journalist  knows.  With  good  management, 
he  can,  keeping  under  the  shadow  of  our  flag, 
raise  two  hundred  rupees  from  a  big  man 
here,  and  five  hundred  from  a  rich  man  there, 
but  he  does  not  establish  himself  across  the 
Border.  To  one  who  has  reason  to  hold  a 
stubborn  disbelief  in  even  the  elementary 
morality  of  the  native  press,  this  bashfulness 
and  lack  of  enterprise  is  amusing.  But  to  re- 
turn to  the  native  States'  administrations. 
There  is  nothing  exactly  wrong  in  the  methods 
of  government  that  are  overlaid  with  English 
terms  and  forms.  They  are  vigorous,  in  cer- 
tain points  ;  and  where  they  are  not  vigorous, 
there  is  a  cheery  happy-go-luckiness  about  the 


Letters  of  Marque  211 

arrangement  that  must  be  seen  to  be  under- 
stood. The  shift  and  play  of  a  man's  fortune 
across  the  Border  is  as  sudden  as  anything  in 
the  days  of  Haroun-al-Raschid  of  blessed  mem- 
ory, and  there  are  stories,  to  be  got  for  the  un- 
earthing, as  wild  and  as  improbable  as  those  in 
the  lliousand  a7td  07ie  Nights.  Most  impres- 
sive of  all  is  the  way  in  which  the  country  is 
"  used,"  and  its  elasticity  under  pressure.  In 
the  good  old  days  the  Durbar  raised  every- 
thing it  could  from  the  people,  and  the  King 
spent  as  much  as  ever  he  could  on  his  per- 
sonal pleasures.  Now  the  institution  of  the 
Political  agent  has  stopped  the  grabbing,  for 
which,  by  the  way,  some  of  the  monarchs  are 
not  in  the  least  grateful — and  smoothed  the 
outward  face  of  things.  But  there  is  still  a 
difference,  between  our  ways  and  the  ways  of 
the  other  places.  A  year  spent  among  native 
States  ought  to  send  a  man  back  to  the 
Decencies  and  the  Law  Courts  and  the  Rights 
of  the  Subject  with  a  supreme  contempt  for 
those  who  rave  about  the  oppressions  of  our 
brutal  bureaucracy.  One  month  nearly  taught 
an  average  Englishman  that  it  was  the  proper 
thing  to  smite  anybody  of  mean  aspect  and 
obstructive  tendencies  on  the  mouth  with  a 
shoe.  Hear  what  an  intelligent  loafer  said. 
His  words  are  at  least  as  valuable  as  these 
babblings.  He  was,  as  usual,  wonderfully 
drunk,  and  the  gift  of  speech  came  upon  him. 
The  conversation — he  was  a  great  politician 
this    loafer — had    turned    on    the    poverty   of 


212  Letters  of  Marque 

India.  ''Poor?"  said  he.  "Of  course  it's 
poor.  Oh,  yes,  d  —  d  poor.  And  I'm  poor, 
an'  you're  poor,  altogether.  Do  you  expect 
people  will  give  you  money  without  you  ask 
'em  ?  No,  I  tell  you,  Sir,  there's  enough 
money  in  India  to  pave  Hell  with  if  you  could 
only  get  at  it.  I've  kep'  servants  in  my  day. 
Did  they  ever  leave  me  without  a  hundred  or 
a  hundred  and  fifty  rupees  put  by — and  never 
touched  }  You  mark  that.  Does  any  black 
man  who  had  been  in  Guv'ment  service  go 
away  without  hundreds  an'  hundreds  put  by, 
and  never  touched  }  You  mark  tliat.  Money  ? 
The  place  stinks  o'  money — just  kept  out  o' 
sight.  Do  you  ever  know  a  native  that  didn't 
say  Garib  achni  (I'm  a  poor  man)  ?  They've 
been  sayin'  Garib  admi  so  long  that  the  Guv'- 
ment learns  to  believe  'em,  and  now  they're 
all  bein'  treated  as  though  they  was  paupers, 
I'm  a  pauper,  an'  you're  a  pauper — we  'aven't 
got  anything  hid  in  the  ground — an'  so's 
every  white  man  in  this  forsaken  country. 
But  the  Injian  he's  a  rich  man.  How  do  I 
know  ?  Because  I've  tramped  on  foot,  or 
warrant  pretty  well  from  one  end  of  the  place 
to  the  other,  an'  I  know  what  I'm  talkin' 
about,  and  this  'ere  Guv'ment  goes  peckin' 
an'  fiddlin'  over  its  tuppenny-ha'penny  little 
taxes  as  if  it  was  afraid.  Which  it  is.  You 
see  how  they  do  things  in .  It's  six  sow- 
ars here,  and  ten  sowars  there,  and — '  Pay  up, 
3^ou  brutes,  or  we'll  pull  your  ears  over  your 
head.'     And  when  they've  taken  all  they  can 


Letters  of  Marque  213 

get,  the  headman,  he  says  :  '  This  is  a  dashed 
poor  yield.  I'll  come  again.'  Of  course  the 
people  digs  up  something  outof  the  ground,  and 
they  pay.  I  know  the  way  it's  done  and  that's 
the  way  to  do  it.  You  can't  go  to  an  Injian 
an'  say  :  '  Look  here.  Can  you  pay  me  five 
rupees  ?  He  says  :  '  Garib  adjni^^  of  course, 
an'  would  say  it  if  he  was  as  rich  as  banker. 
But  if  you  send  a  half  a  dozen  swords  at  him 
and  shift  the  thatch  off  of  his  roof,  he'll  pay. 
Guv'ment  can't  do  that.  I  don't  suppose  it 
could.  There  is  no  reason  why  it  shouldn't. 
But  it  might  do  something  like  it  to  show  that 
it  wasn't  going  to  have  no  nonsense.  Why, 
I'd  undertake  to  raise  a  hundred  million — 
what  am  I  talking  of  ? — a  hundred  and  fifty 
million  pounds  from  this  country  per  aimum. 
and  it  wouldn't  be  strained  tJien.  One  hundred 
and  fifty  millions  you  could  raise  as  easy  as 
paint,  if  you  just  made  these  'ere  Injians;under- 
stand  that  they  had  to  pay  an'  make  no  bones 
about  it.      It's  enough  to  make  a  man  sick  to 

go  in  over  yonder  to and  see  what  they  do  ; 

and  then  come  back  an'  see  what  we  do. 
Perfectly  sickenin'  it  is.  Borrer  money  ? 
Why  the  country  could  pay  herself  an'  every- 
thing she  wants,  if  she  was  only  made  to  do 
it.  It's  this  bloomin'  Garib  adini  swindle 
that's  been  going  on  all  these  years,  that  has 
made  fools  o'  the  Guv'ment." 

Then  he  became  egotistical,  this  ragged 
ruffian  who  conceived  that  he  knew  the  road 
to  illimitable  wealth  and  told  the  story  of  his 


214  Letters  of  Marque 

life,  interspersed  with  anecdotes  that  would 
blister  the  paper  they  were  written  on.  But 
through  all  his  ravings,  he  stuck  to  his  hun- 
dred-and-fifty-million  theory,  and  though  the 
listener  dissented  from  him  and  the  brutal 
cruelty  with  which  his  views  were  stated,  an 
unscientific  impression  remained  not  to  be 
shaken  off.  Across  the  Border  one  feels  that 
the  country  is  being  used,  exploited,  *'  made 
to  sit  up,"  so  to  speak.  In  our  territories  the 
feeling  is  equally  strong  of  wealth  "  just  round 
the  corner,"  as  the  loafer  said,  of  a  people 
wrapped  up  in  cotton  wool  and  ungetat- 
able.  Will  any  man,  who  really  knows  some- 
thing of  a  little  piece  of  India  and  has  not  the 
fear  of  running  counter  to  custom  before  his 
eyes,  explain  how  this  impression  is  produced, 
and  why  it  is  an  erroneous  one .'' 

Nasirabad  marked  the  end  of  the  English- 
man's holiday,  and  there  was  sorrow  in  his 
heart.  "  Come  back  again,"  said  Ram  Baksh, 
cheerfully,  "  and  bring  a  gun  with  you.  Then 
I'll  take  you  to  Gungra,  and  I'll  drive  you  my- 
self. 'Drive  you  just  as  well  as  IVe  driven 
these  four  days  past."  An  amicable  open- 
minded  soul  was  Ram  Baksh.  May  his  ton- 
gas never  grow  less  ! 

3jC  jfi  ^  ^  ?fi 

"  This  'ere  Burma  fever  is  a  bad  thing  to 
have.  It's  pulled  me  down  awful ;  an'  now  I 
am  going  to  Peshawar.  Are  you  the  Station- 
master  ?  "  It  was  Thomas — white-cheeked, 
sunken-eyed,  drawn-mouthed  Thomas — travel- 


Letters  of  Marque  215 

ing  from  Nasirabad  to  Peshawar  on  pass  ; 
and  with  him  was  a  Corporal  new  to  his  stripes 
and  doing  station  duty.  Every  Thomas  is 
interesting,  except  when  he  is  too  drunk  to 
speak.  This  Thomas  was  an  enthusiast.  He 
had  volunteered,  from  a  Home-going  regiment 
shattered  by  Burma  fever,  into  a  regiment  at 
Peshawar,  had  broken  down  at  Nasirabad  on 
his  way  up  with  his  draft,  and  was  now  journey- 
ing into  the  unknown  to  pick  up  another 
medal.  "  There's  sure  to  be  something  on 
the  Frontier,"  said  this  gaunt,  haggard  boy — 
he  was  little  more,  though  he  reckoned  four 
years'  service  and  considered  himself  some- 
body. "  When  there's  anything  going,  Pe- 
shawar's the  place  to  be  in,  they  tell  me  ;  but  I 
hear  we  shall  have  to  march  down  to  Calcutta 
in  no  time."  The  Corporal  was  a  little  man 
and  showed  his  friend  off  with  great  pride  : 
"  Ah,  you  should  have  come  to  us,^'  said  he; 
"  we're  the  regiment,  we  are. "  "  Well,  I  went 
with  the  rest  of  our  men,"  said  Thomas. 
"  There's  three  hundred  of  us  volunteered  to 
stay  on,  and  we  all  went  for  the  same  regi- 
ment. Not  but  what  I'm  saying  yours  is  a 
good  regiment,"  he  added  with  grave  courtesy. 
This  loosed  the  Corporal's  tongue,  and  he 
descanted  on  the  virtues  of  the  regiment  and 
the  merits  of  the  officers.  It  has  been  written 
that  Thomas  is  devoid  of  esprit  de  corps,  be- 
cause of  the  jerkiness  of  the  arrangements 
under  which  he  now  serves.  If  this  be  true, 
he  manages  to  conceal  his  feelings  very  well ; 


2i6  Letters  of  Marque 

for  he  speaks  most  fluently  in  praise  of  his 
own  regiment ;  and,  for  all  his  youth,  has  a 
keen  appreciation  of  the  merits  of  his  officers. 
Go  to  him  when  his  heart  is  opened,  and  hear 
him  going  through  the  roll  of  the  subalterns, 
by  a  grading  totally  unknown  in  the  Army 
List,  and  you  will  pick  up  something  worth 
the  hearing.  Thomas,  with  the  Burma  fever 
on  him,  tried  to  cut  in,  from  time  to  time, 
with  stories  of  his  officers  and  what  they  had 
done  "when  we  was  marchin'  all  up  and 
down  Burma,"  but  the  little  Corporal  went  on 
gaily. 

They  made  a  curious  contrast — these  two 
types.  The  lathy,  town-bred  Thomas  with 
hock-bottle  shoulders,  a  little  education,  and 
a  keen  desire  to  get  more  medals  and  stripes ; 
and  the  little,  deep-chested,  bull-necked  Cor- 
poral brimming  over  with  vitality  and  devoid 
of  any  ideas  beyond  the  "regiment."  And 
the  end  of  both  lives,  in  all  likelihood,  would  be 
a  nameless  grave  in  some  cantonment  burying- 
ground  with,  if  the  case  were  specially  in- 
teresting and  the  Regimental  Doctor  had  a 
turn  for  the  pen,  an  obituary  notice  in  the 
Indian  Medical  Journal.  It  was  an  unpleas- 
ant thought. 

From  the  Army  to  the  Navy  is  a  perfectly 
natural  transition,  but  one  hardly  to  be  ex- 
pected in  the  heart  of  India.  Dawn  showed 
the  railway  carriage  full  of  riotous  boys, 
for  the  Agra  and  Mount  Abu  schools  had 
broken  up  for  holidays.     Surely  it  was  natural 


Letters  of  Marque  217 

enough  to  ask  a  child — not  a  boy,  but  a  child 
— whether  he  was  going  home  for  the  holidays  ; 
and  surely  it  was  a  crushing,  a  petrifying 
thing  to  hear  in  a  clear  treble  tinged  with  icy 
scorn  :  "  No.  I'm  on  leave.  I'm  a  midship- 
man." Two  "  officers  of  Her  Majesty's  Navy" 
— mids  of  a  man-o'-war  at  Bombay — were 
going  up-country  on  ten  days'  leave.  They 
had  not  traveled  much  more  than  twice  round 
the  world  ;  but  they  should  have  printed  the 
fact  on  a  label.  They  chattered  like  daws,  and 
their  talk  was  as  a  whiff  of  fresh  air  from  the 
open  sea,  while  the  train  ran  eastward  under 
the  Aravalis.  At  that  hour  their  lives  were 
bound  up  in  and  made  glorious  by  the  hope 
of  riding  a  horse  when  they  reached  their 
journey's  end.  Much  had  they  seen  "  cities 
and  men,"  and  the  artless  way  in  which  they 
interlarded  their  conversation  with  allusions 
to  "  one  of  those  shore-going  chaps,  you  see," 
was  delicious.  They  had  no  cares,  no  fears, 
no  servants,  and  an  unlimited  stock  of  won- 
der and  admiration  for  everything  they  saw, 
from  the  "  cute  little  well  scoops  "  to  a  herd 
of  deer  grazing  on  the  horizon.  It  was  not 
until  they  had  opened  their  young  hearts  with 
infantile  abandon  that  the  listener  could  guess 
from  the  incidental  argot  where  these  pocket- 
Ulysseses  had  traveled.  South  African,  Nor- 
wegian, and  Arabian  words  were  used  to  help 
out  the  slang  of  shipboard,  and  a  copious  vo- 
cabulary of  shipboard  terms,  complicated  with 
modern  Greek.     As  free  from  self-conscious- 


2i8  Letters  of  Marque 

ness  as  children,  as  ignorant  as  beings  from  an- 
other planet  of  the  Anglo-Indian  life  into  which 
they  were  going  to  dip  for  a  few  days,  shrewd 
and  observant  as  befits  men  of  the  world 
who  have  authority,  and  neat  handed  and  re- 
sourceful as — blue-jackets,  they  were  a  delight- 
ful study,  and  accepted  freely  and  frankly  the 
elaborate  apologies  tendered  to  them  for  the 
unfortunate  mistake  about  the  "  holidays." 
The  roads  divided  and  they  went  their  way ; 
and  there  was  a  shadow  after  they  had  gone, 
for  the  Globe-trotter  said  to  his  wife,  "  What 
I  like  about  Jeypore  " — accent  on  the  first 
syllable,  if  you  please — "  is  its  characteristic 
easternness."  And  the  Globe-trotter's  wife 
said;    "Yes.     It  is  purely  Oriental." 

This  was  Jeypore  with  the  gas-jets  and  the 
water  pipes  as  was  shown  at  the  beginning  of 
these  trivial  letters ;  and  the  Globe-trotter 
and  his  wife  had  not  been  to  Amber.  Joyful 
thought !  They  had  not  seen  the  soft  splen- 
dors of  Udaipur,  the  nightmare  of  Chitor, 
the  grim  power  of  Jodhpur,  and  the  virgin 
beauties  of  Boondi — fairest  of  all  places  that 
the  Englishman  had  set  eyes  on.  The  Globe- 
trotter was  great  in  the  matter  of  hotels  and 
food,  but  he  had  not  lain  under  the  shadow 
of  a  tonga  in  soft  warm  sand,  eating  cold  pork 
with  a  pocket-knife,  and  thanking  Providence 
who  put  sweet-water  streams  where  wayfarers 
wanted  them.  He  had  not  drunk  out  the 
brilliant  cold-weather  night  in  the  company 
of  a  King  of  Loafers,  a  grimy  scallawag  with 


Letters  of  Marque  219 

a  six  days'  beard  and  an  unholy  knowledge  of 
native  States.  He  had  attended  service  in 
cantonment  churches ;  but  he  had  not  known 
what  it  was  to  witness  the  simple,  solemn  cer- 
emonial in  the  dining-room  of  a  far-away 
Residency,  when  all  the  English  folk  within 
a  hundred-mile  circuit  bowed  their  heads  be- 
fore the  God  of  the  Christians.  He  had 
blundered  about  temples  of  strange  deities 
with  a  guide  at  his  elbow ;  but  he  had  not 
known  what  it  was  to  attempt  conversation 
with  a  temple  dancing-girl  {iiot  such  an  one  as 
Edwin  Arnold  invented),  and  to  be  rewarded 
for  a  misturned  compliment  with  a  deftly 
heaved  bunch  of  marigold  buds  in  his  respec- 
table bosom.  Yet  he  had  undoubtedly  lost 
much,  and  the  measure  of  his  loss  was  proven 
in  his  estimate  of  the  Orientalism  of  Jeypore. 

But  what  had  he  who  sat  in  judgment  upon 
him  gained.?  One  perfect  month  of  loafer- 
dom,  to  be  remembered  above  all  others  and 
the  night  of  the  visit  to  Chitor,  to  be  remem- 
bered even  when  the  month  is  forgotten.  Also 
the  sad  knowledge  that  of  all  the  fair  things 
seen,  the  inept  pen  gives  but  a  feeble  and 
blurred  picture. 

Let  those  who  have  read  to  the  end,  pardon 
a  hundred  blemishes. 


THE  SMITH  ADMINISTRATION 


THE  SMITH  ADMINISTRATION 


THE  COW-HOUSE  JIRGA 

How  does  a  King  feel  when  he  has  kept 
peace  in  his  borders,  by  skilfully  playing  off 
people  against  people,  sect  against  sect,  and 
kin  against  kin  ?  Does  he  go  out  into  the 
back  veranda,  take  off  his  terai-crown,  and 
rub  his  hands  softly,  chuckling  the  while — as 
I  do  now  ?  Does  he  pat  himself  on  the  back 
and  hum  merry  little  tunes  as  he  walks  up  and 
down  his  garden  ?  A  man  who  takes  no  de- 
light in  ruling  men — dozens  of  them — is  no 
man.  Behold  !  India  has  been  squabbling 
over  the  Great  Cow  Question  any  time  these 
four  hundred  years,  to  the  certain  knowledge 
of  history  and  successive  governments.  I, 
Smith,  have  settled  it.      That  is  all ! 

The  trouble  began,  in  the  ancient  and  well- 
established  fashion,  with  a  love-affair  across 
the  Border,  that  is  to  say,  in  the  next  com- 
pound. Peroo,  the  cowboy,  went  a-courting, 
and  the  innocent  had  not  sense  enough  to 
keep  to  his  own  creed.  He  must  needs  make 
love  to  Baktawri,  Corkler's  coachwan^s  (coach- 
man) little  girl,   and   she   being  betrothed  to 

223 


224     The  Smith  Administration 

Ahmed  Buksh's  son,  ceiat  nine,  very  properly 
threw  a  cow-dung  cake  at  his  head.  Peroo 
scrambled  back,  hot  and  disheveled,  over  the 
garden  wall,  and  the  vendetta  began.  Peroo 
is  in  no  sense  chivalrous.  He  saved  Chukki, 
the  ayah's  (maid)  little  daughter,  from  a  big 
pariah  dog  once  ;  but  he  made  Chukki  give 
him  half  a  chapaiti  for  his  services,  and  Chukki 
cried  horribly.  Peroo  threw  bricks  at  Bak- 
tawri  when  next  he  saw  her,  and  said  shame- 
ful things  about  her  birth  and  parentage.  "  If 
she  be  not  fair  to  me,  I  will  heave  a  rock  at 
she,"  was  Peroo's  rule  of  life  after  the  cow- 
dung  incident.  Baktawri  naturally  objected 
to  bricks,  and  she  told  her  father. 

Without,  in  the  least,  wishing  to  hurt  Cork- 
ler's  feelings,  T  must  put  on  record  my  opinion 
that  his  coachwan  is  a  rA<7?^/^r-Mahometan, 
not  too  long  converted.  The  lines  on  which 
he  fought  the  quarrel  lead  me  to  this  belief, 
for  he  made  a  Creed-question  of  the  brick- 
throwing,  instead  of  waiting  for  Peroo  and 
smacking  that  young  cateran  when  he  caught 
him.  Once  beyond  my  borders,  my  people 
carry  their  lives  in  their  own  hand — the  Gov- 
ernment is  not  responsible  for  their  safety. 
Corkler's  coachwa?i  did  not  complain  to  me. 
He  sent  out  an  Army — Imam  Din,  his  son — 
with  general  instructions  to  do  Peroo  a  mis- 
chief in  the  eyes  of  his  employer.  This 
brought  the  fight  officially  under  my  cogniz- 
ance ;  and  was  a  direct  breach  of  the  neutral- 
ity existing  between  myself  and  Corkier,  who 


The  Smith  Administration     225 

has  "  Punjab  head,"  and  declares  that  his 
servants  are  the  best  in  the  Province.  I  know 
better.  They  are  the  tailings  of  my  compound 
— "casters"  for  dishonesty  and  riotousness. 
As  an  Army,  Imam  Din  was  distinctly  inex- 
perienced. As  a  General,  he  was  beneath 
contempt.  He  came  in  the  night  with  a  hoe, 
and  chipped  a  piece  out  of  the  dun  heifer, — 
Peroo's  charge, — fondly  imagining  that  Peroo 
would  have  to  bear  the  blame.  Peroo  was 
discovered  next  morning  weeping  salt  tears 
into  the  wound,  and  the  mass  of  my  Hindu 
population  were  at  once  up  and  in  arms.  Had 
I  headed  them,  they  would  have  descended 
upon  Corkler's  compound  and  swept  it  off  the 
face  of  the  earth.  But  I  calmed  them  with 
fair  words  and  set  a  watch  for  the  cow  hoer. 
Next  night.  Imam  Din  came  again  with  a 
bamboo  and  began  to  hit  the  heifer  over  her 
legs.  Peroo  caught  him — caught  him  by  the 
leg — and  held  on  for  the  dear  vengeance,  till 
Imam  Din  was  locked  up  in  the  gram  go- 
down,  and  Peroo  told  him  that  he  would  be 
led  out  to  death  in  the  morning.  But  with  the 
dawn,  the  Clan  Corkier  came  over,  and  there 
was  pulling  of  turbans  across  the  wall,  till  the 
Supreme  Government  was  dressed  and  said, 
"  Be  silent !  "  Now  Corkler's  coachwaii's 
brother  was  my  coachwan^  and  a  man  much 
dreaded  by  Peroo.  He  was  not  unaccus- 
tomed to  speak  the  truth  at  intervals,  and,  by 
virtue  of  that  rare  failing,  I,  the  Supreme 
Government,  appointed  him  head  of  theyVr^^ 
15 


226     The  Smith  Administration 

(committee)  to  try  the  case  of  Peroo's  unau- 
thorized love-making.  The  other  members 
were  my  bearer  (Hindu),  Corkler's  bearer 
(Mahometan),  with  the  ticca-dharzi  (hired 
tailor),  Mahometan,  for  Standing  Counsel. 
Baktawri  and  Baktawri's  father  were  wit- 
nesses, but  Baktawri's  mother  came  all  un- 
asked and  seriously  interfered  with  the  gravity 
of  the  debate  by  abuse.  But  the  dharzi  up- 
held the  dignity  of  the  Law,  and  led  Peroo 
away  by  the  ear  to  a  secluded  spot  near  the 
well. 

Imam  Din's  case  was  an  offense  against  the 
Government,  raiding  in  British  territory  and 
maiming  of  cattle,  complicated  with  trespass 
by  night — all  heinous  crimes  for  which  he 
might  have  been  sent  to  jail.  The  evidence 
was  deadly  conclusive,  and  the  case  was  tried 
summarily  in  the  presence  of  the  heifer. 
Imam  Din's  counsel  was  Corkler's  sais^  who, 
with  great  acumen,  pointed  out  that  the  boy 
had  only  acted  under  his  father's  instructions. 
Pressed  by  the  Supreme  Government,  he  ad- 
mitted that  the  letters  of  marque  did  not  spec- 
ify cows  as  an  object  of  revenge,  but  merely 
Peroo.  The  hoeing  of  a  heifer  was  a  piece  of 
spite  on  Imam  Din's  part.  This  was  ad- 
mitted. The  penalties  of  failure  are  dire.  A 
chowkidar  (watchman)  was  deputed  to  do  jus- 
tice on  the  person  of  Imam  Din,  but  sentence 
was  deferred  pending  the  decision  of  theyVr^^ 
on  Peroo.  The  dha?'zi  announced  to  the  Su- 
preme   Government    that    Peroo    had    been 


The  Smith  Administration     227 

found  guilty  of  assaulting  Baktawri,  across  the 
Border  in  Corkler's  compound,  with  bricks, 
thereby  injuring  the  honor  and  dignity  of 
Corkler's  coachwan.  For  this  offense,  the 
jirga  submitted,  a  sentence  of  a  dozen  stripes 
was  necessary,  to  be  followed  by  two  hours 
of  ear-holding.  The  Corkier  choivkidar  was 
deputed  to  do  sentence  on  the  person  of 
Peroo,  and  the  Smith  cliowkidar  on  that  of 
Imam  Din.  They  laid  on  together  with  jus- 
tice and  discrimination,  and  seldom  have  two 
small  boys  been  better  trounced.  Followed 
next  a  dreary  interval  of  "  ear-holding  "  side 
by  side.  This  is  a  peculiar  Oriental  punish- 
ment, and  should  be  seen  to  be  appreciated. 
The  Supreme  Government  then  called  for 
Corkler's  coachwa7i  and  pointed  out  the  bleed- 
ing heifer,  with  such  language  as  seemed 
suitable  to  the  situation.  Local  knowledge  in 
a  case  like  this  is  invaluable.  Corkler's 
coachwan  was  notoriously  a  wealthy  man,  and 
so  far  a  bad  Mussulman  in  that  he  lent  money 
at  interest.  As  a  financier  he  had  few  friends 
among  his  co-servants.  On  the  other  hand,  in 
the  Smith  quarters,  the  Mahometan  element 
largely  predominated ;  because  the  Supreme 
Government  considered  the  minds  of  Mahom- 
etans more  get-at-able  than  those  of  Hindus. 
The  sin  of  inciting  an  illiterate  and  fanatic 
family  to  go  forth  and  do  a  mischief  was  duly 
dwelt  upon  by  the  Supreme  Government,  to- 
gether with  the  dangers  attending  the  vicari- 
ous jehad  (religious  war) .     Corkler's  coachwan 


228     The  Smith  Administration 

offered  no  defense  beyond  the  general  state- 
ment that  the  Supreme  Government  was  his 
father  and  his  mother.  This  carried  no 
weight.  The  Supreme  Government  touched 
lightly  on  the  inexpediency  of  reviving  an  old 
creed-quarrel,  and  pointed  out  a  venture,  that 
the  birth  and  education  of  a  <r/^<^;;^(^r  (low-caste 
Hindu),  three  months  converted,  did  not  just- 
ify such  extreme  sectarianism.  Here  the  pop- 
ulace shouted  like  the  men  of  Ephesus,  and 
sentence  was  passed  amid  tumultuous  ap- 
plause. Corkler's  coachiuaii  was  ordered  to 
give  a  dinner,  not  only  to  the  Hindus  whom 
he  had  insulted,  but  also  to  the  Mahometans 
of  the  Smith  compound,  and  also  to  his  own 
fellow-servants.  His  brother,  the  Smith 
coachzaa?i,  unconverted  cha7nar^  was  to  see 
that  he  did  it.  Refusal  to  comply  with  these 
words  entailed  a  reference  to  Corkier  and  the 
"Inspector  Sahib,"  who  would  send  in  his 
constables,  and,  with  the  connivance  of  the 
Supreme  Government,  would  harry  and  vex 
all  the  Corkier  compound.  Corkler's  coach- 
wan  protested,  but  was  overborne  by  Hindus 
and  Mahometans  alike,  and  his  brother,  who 
hated  him  with  a  cordial  hatred,  began  to  dis- 
cuss the  arrangements  for  the  dinner.  Peroo, 
by  the  way,  was  not  to  share  in  the  feast,  nor 
was  Imam  Din.  The  proceedings  then  ter- 
minated, and  the  Supreme  Government  went 
in  to  breakfast. 

Ten  days  later  the  dinner  came  off  and  was 
continued  far  into    the   night.     It   marked  a 


The  Smith  Administration     229 

new  era  in  my  political  relations  with  the  out- 
lying states,  and  was  graced  for  a  few  minutes 
by  the  presence  of  the  Supreme  Government. 
Corkler's  coachwan  hates  me  bitterly,  but  he 
can  find  no  one  to  back  him  up  in  any  scheme 
of  annoyance  that  he  may  mature ;  for  have  I 
not  won  for  my  Empire  a  free  dinner,  with 
oceans  of  sweetmeats  ?  And  in  this,  gentle- 
men all,  lies  the  secret  of  Oriental  administra- 
tion. My  throne  is  set  where  it  should  be — 
on  the  stomachs  of  many  people. 


230     The  Smith  Administration 


A  BAZAAR  DHULIP. 

I  AND  the  Government  are  roughly  in  the 
same  condition ;  but  modesty  forces  me  to 
say  that  the  Smith  Administration  is  a  few 
points  better  than  the  Imperial.  Corkler's 
coachwaJi,  you  may  remember,  was  fined  a 
caste-dinner  by  me  for  sending  his  son,  Imam 
Din,  to  mangle  my  dun  heifer.  In  my  last 
published  administration  report,  I  stated  that 
Corkler's  coachwan  bore  me  a  grudge  for  the 
fine  imposed  upon  him,  but  among  my  servants 
and  Corkler's,  at  least,  could  find  no  one  to 
support  him  in  schemes  of  vengeance.  I  was 
quite  right — right  as  an  administration  with 
prestige  to  support  should  always  be. 

But  I  own  that  I  had  never  contemplated 
the  possibility  of  Corkler's  coachwan  going  off 
to  take  service  with  Mr.  Jehan  Concepcion 
Fernandez  de  Lisboa  Paul — a  gentleman  semi- 
orientalized,  possessed  of  several  dwelling- 
houses  and  an  infamous  temper.  Corkier  was 
an  Englishman,  and  any  attempt  on  his  coach- 
wan's  part  to  annoy  me  would  have  been 
summarily  stopped.  Mr.  J.  C.  F.  de  L.  Paul, 
on  the  other  hand  .  .  .  but  no  matter.  The 
business  is  now  settled,  and  there  is  no  neces- 
sity for  importing  a  race-question  into  the 
story. 

Once  established  in  INIr.  Paul's  compound, 


The  Smith  Administration     231 

Corkler's  coac/nvan  sent  me  an  insolent  message 
demanding  a  refund,  with  interest,  of  all  the 
money  spent  on  the  caste-dinner.  The  Gov- 
ernment, in  a  temperately  framed  reply,  re- 
fused point-blank,  and  pointed  out  that  a 
Mahometan  by  his  religion  could  not  ask  for 
interest.  As  I  have  stated  in  my  last  report, 
Corkler's  coachwan  was  a  renegade  chamar, 
converted  to  Islam  for  his  wife's  sake.  The 
impassive  attitude  of  the  Government  had  the 
effect  of  monstrously  irritating  Corkler's  coach- 
wan,  who  sat  on  the  wall  of  Mr.  Paul's  com- 
pound and  flung  highly  flavored  vernacular 
at  the  servants  of  the  State  as  they  passed. 
He  said  that  it  was  his  intention  to  make  life 
a  burden  to  the  Government- — profanely  called 
Eschmitt  Sahib.  The  Government  went  to 
office  as  usual  and  made  no  sign.  Then 
Corkler's  coachwan  formulated  an  indictment 
to  the  effect  that  Eschmitt  Sahib  had,  on  the 
occasion  of  the  caste-dinner,  pulled  him 
vehemently  by  the  ears,  and  robbed  him  of  one 
rupee  nine  annas  four  pie.  The  charge  was 
shouted  from  the  top  of  Mr.  Paul's  compound 
wall  to  the  four  winds  of  Heaven.  It  was 
disregarded  by  the  Government,  and  the  ref- 
ugee took  more  daring  measures.  He  came 
by  night,  and  wrote  upon  the  white-washed 
walls  with  charcoal  disgraceful  sentences  which 
made  the  Smith  servants  grin. 

Now  it  is  bad  for  any  Government  that  its 
servants  should  grin  at  it.  Rebellion  is  as  the 
sin  of  witchcraft ;  and  irreverence  is  the  parent 


232     The  Smith  Administration 

of  rebellion.  Not  content  with  writing,  Cork- 
ler's  coachwan  began  to  miscall  the  State — 
always  from  the  top  of  Mr.  Paul's  wall.  He 
informed  intending  771113  salchis  (scullions) 
that  Eschmitt  Sahib  invariably  administered 
his  pantry  with  a  polo-stock ;  possible  saises 
(grooms)  were  told  that  wages  in  the  Smith 
establishment  were  paid  yearly ;  while  khit- 
matgars  (butlers)  learnt  that  their  family  hon- 
or was  not  safe  within  the  gate-posts  of  the 
house  of  "  Eschmitt."  No  real  harm  was  done, 
for  the  character  of  my  rule  is  known  among 
all  first-class  servants.  Still,  the  vituperation 
and  all  its  circumstantial  details  made  men 
laugh  ;  and  I  choose  that  no  one  shall  laugh. 
My  relations  with  Mr.  Paul  had  always — 
for  reasons  connected  with  the  incursions  of 
hens — been  strained.  In  pursuance  of  a  care- 
fully matured  plan  of  campaign  I  demanded 
of  Mr.  Paul  the  body  of  Corkler's  coachwan,  to 
be  dealt  with  after  my  own  ideas.  Mr.  Paul 
said  that  the  man  was  a  good  coachwa7i  and 
should  not  be  given  up.  I  then  temperately 
— always  temperately — gave  him  a  sketch  of 
the  ruffian's  conduct.  Mr.  Paul  announced 
his  entire  freedom  from  any  responsibility  in 
this  matter,  and  requested  that  the  correspond- 
ence might  cease.  It  was  vitally  necessary 
to  the  well-being  of  my  administration  that 
Corkler's  coackwafi  should  come  into  my  pos- 
session. He  was  daily  growing  a  greater  nui- 
sance, and  had  drawn  unto  him  a  disaffected 
dog-boy,  lately  in  my  employ. 


The  Smith  Administration     233 

Mr.  Paul  was  deaf  to  my  verbal,  and  blind  to 
my  written  entreaties.  For  these  reasons  I  was 
reluctantly  compelled  to  take  the  law  into  my 
own  hands — and  break  it.  A  k/iitmatgar  was 
sent  down  the  length  of  Mr.  Paul's  wall  to 
"  draw  the  fire  '  of  Corkler's  coachwa?i,  and 
while  the  latter  cursed  him  by  his  gods  for 
ever  entering  Eschmitt  Sahib's  service,  Esch- 
mitt  Sahib  crept  subtilely  behind  the  wall  and 
thrust  the  evil-speaker  into  the  moonlit  road, 
where  he  was  pinioned,  in  strict  silence,  by 
the  ambushed  population  of  the  Smith  com- 
pound. Once  collared,  I  regret  to  say,  Cork- 
ler's coachwan  was  seized  with  an  unmanly 
panic  ;  for  the  memory  of  the  lewd  sentences 
on  the  wall,  the  insults  shouted  from  the  top 
of  Mr.  Paul's  wall,  and  the  warnings  to  way- 
faring table-servants,  came  back  to  his  mind. 
He  wept  salt  tears  and  demanded  the  protec- 
tion of  the  law  and  of  Mr.  Paul.  He  received 
neither.  He  was  paraded  by  the  State  through 
the  quarters,  that  all  men  and  women  and 
little  children  might  look  at  him.  He  was 
then  formally  appointed  last  and  lowest  of  the 
carriage-grooms  — 7iauker-ke-nauker  (servant 
of  servants) — in  perpetuity,  on  a  salary  which 
would  never  be  increased.  The  entire  Smith 
people — Hindu  and  Mussulman  alike — were 
made  responsible  for  his  safe-keeping  under 
pain  of  having  all  the  thatch  additions  to  their 
houses  torn  down,  and  the  Light  of  the  Favor 
of  the  State — the  Great  Haziu^-ki-Mehrbani — 
darkened  forever. 


234     'T^^  Smith  Administration 

Legally  the  State  was  wrongfully  detaining 
Corkler's  coacJiwan.  Practically,  it  was  aveng- 
ing itself  for  a  protracted  series  of  insults  to 
its  dignity. 

Days  rolled  on,  and  Corkler's  coachwan  be- 
came carriage-j'iz/i'.  Instead  of  driving  two 
horses,  it  was  his  duty  to  let  down  the  steps 
for  the  State  to  tread  upon.  VA'hen  the  other 
servants  received  cold-weather  coats,  he  was 
compelled  to  buy  one,  and  all  extra  lean-to 
huts  round  his  house  were  strictly  forbidden. 
That  he  did  not  run  away,  I  ascribe  solely  to 
the  exertions  of  the  domestic  police — that  is 
to  say,  every  man,  woman,  and  child  of  the 
Smith  Kingdom.  He  was  delivered  into  tTleir 
hands,  for  a  prey  and  a  laughing-stock  ;  and 
in  their  hands,  unless  I  am  much  mistaken, 
they  intend  that  he  shall  remain.  I  learn  that 
my  khansainah  (head  butler)  has  informed  Mr. 
Paul  that  his  late  servant  is  in  jail  for  robbing 
the  Roman  Catholic  Chapel,  of  which  Mr. 
Paul  is  a  distinguished  member;  consequently 
that  gentleman  had  relaxed  his  attempts  to  un- 
earth what  he  called  his  "so  good  coachwaji.'''' 
That  coachwan  is  now  a  living  example  and 
most  lively  presentment  of  the  unrelaxing 
wrath  of  the  State.  However  well  he  may 
work,  however  earnestly  strive  to  win  my 
favor,  there  is  no  human  chance  of  his  ever 
rising  from  his  present  positjon  so  long  as 
Eschmitt  Sahib  and  he  are  above  the  earth 
together.  For  reasons  which  I  have  hinted 
at  above,  he  remains  cleaning  carriage-wheels, 


The  Smith  Administration     235 

and  will  so  remain  to  the  end  of  the  chapter ; 
while  the  story  of  his  fall  and  fate  spreads 
through  the  bazaars,  and  fills  the  ranks  of 
servantdom  with  an  intense  respect  for  Esch- 
mitt  Sahib. 

A  broad-minded  Oriental  administration 
would  have  allowed  me  to  nail  up  the  head  of 
Corkler's  coachwan  over  the  hall  door ;  a 
narrow-souled  public  may  consider  my  present 
lenient  treatment  of  him  harsh  and  illegal. 
To  this  I  can  only  reply  that  I  know  how  to 
deal  with  my  own  people.  I  will  never,  never 
part  with  Corkler's  coachwan. 


236     The  Smith  Administration 


THE  HANDS  OF  JUSTICE. 

Be  pleased  to  listen  to  a  story  of  domestic 
trouble  connected  with  the  Private  Services 
Commission  in  the  back  veranda,  which  did 
good  work,  though  I,  the  Commission,  say  so, 
but  it  could  not  guard  against  the  Unforeseen 
Contingency.  There  was  peace  in  all  my 
borders  till  Peroo,  the  cow-keeper's  son,  came 
yesterday  and  paralyzed  the  Government. 
He  said  his  father  had  told  him  to  gather 
sticks — dry  sticks — for  the  evening  fire.  I 
would  not  check  parental  authority  in  any 
way,  but  I  did  not  see  why  Peroo  should 
mangle  my  s/rm-trees.  Peroo  wept  copi- 
ously, and,  promising  never  to  despoil  my 
garden  again,  fled  from  my  presence. 

To-day  I  have  caught  him  in  the  act  of 
theft,  and  in  the  third  fork  of  the  white  Doon 
sirris,  twenty  feet  above  ground.  I  have 
taken  a  chair  and  established  myself  at  the 
foot  of  the  tree,  preparatory  to  making  up 
my  mind. 

The  situation  is  a  serious  one,  for  if  Peroo 
be  led  to  think  that  he  can  break  down  my 
trees  unharmed,  the  garden  will  be  a  wilder- 
ness in  a  week.  Furthermore,  Peroo  has  in- 
sulted the  Majesty  of  the  Government.  Which 
is  Me.     Also  he  has  insulted  my  sirris  in  say- 


The  Smith  Administration     237 

ing  that  it  is  dry.  He  deserves  a  double 
punishment. 

On  the  other  hand,  Peroo  is  very  young, 
very  small,  and  very,  very  naked.  At  present 
he  is  penitent,  for  he  is  howling  in  a  dry  and 
husky  fashion,  and  the  squirrels  are  frightened. 

The  question  is — how  shall  I  capture  Peroo .'' 
There  are  three  courses  open  to  me.  I  can 
shin  up  the  tree  and  fight  him  on  his  own 
ground.  I  can  shell  him  with  clods  of  earth 
till  he  makes  submission  and  comes  down  ;  or, 
and  this  seems  the  better  plan,  I  can  remain 
where  I  am,  and  cut  him  off  from  his  supplies 
until  the  rifles — sticks  I  mean — are  returned. 

Peroo,  for  all  practical  purposes,  is  a  ma- 
rauding tribe  from  the  Hills — head-man,  fight- 
ing-tail and  all.  I,  once  more,  am  the  State, 
cool,  collected,  and  impassive.  In  half  an 
hour  or  so  Peroo  will  be  forced  to  descend. 
He  will  then  be  smacked  :  that  is,  if  I  can  lay 
hold  of  his  wriggling  body.  In  the  mean  time, 
I  will  demonstrate. 

"  Bearer,  bring  me  the  tum-tum  ki  chabuq 
(carriage-whip)." 

It  is  brought  and  laid  on  the  ground,  while 
Peroo  howls  afresh.  I  will  overawe  this  child. 
He  has  an  armful  of  stolen  sticks  pressed  to 
his  stomach. 

"  Bearer,  bring  also  the  chota  mota  chabuq 
(the  little  whip)  the  one  kept  for  the  punnia 
culta  (spaniel)." 

Peroo  has  stopped  howling.  He  peers 
through  the  branches  and  breathes  through 


238     The  Smith  Administration 

his  nose  very  hard.  Decidedly,  I  am  im- 
pressing him  with  a  show  of  armed  strength. 
The  idea  of  that  cruel  whip-thong  curling 
round  Peroo's  fat  little  brown  stomach  is  not 
a  pleasant  one.      But  I  must  be  firm. 

"  Peroo,  come  down  and  be  hit  for  stealing 
the  Sahib's  wood." 

Peroo  scuttles  up  to  the  fourth  fork,  and 
waits  developments. 

*'  Peroo,  will  you  come  down  ?  " 

"  No.     The  Sahib  will  hit  me. " 

Here  the  goaila  appears,  and  learns  that  his 
son  is  in  disgrace.  "  Beat  him  well,  Sahib," 
says  the  goaila.  "  He  is  a  biidmash.  I  never 
told  him  to  steal  your  wood.  Peroo,  descend 
and  be  very  much  beaten." 

There  is  silence  for  a  moment.  Then,  crisp 
and  clear  from  the  very  top  of  the  sirris,  float 
down  the  answer  of  the  treed  dacoit 

"  Kubbi,  kubbi  nahin  (Never — never — 
No!)." 

The  goaila  hides  a  smile  with  his  hand  and 
departs,  saying  :  "  Very  well.  This  night  I 
will  beat  you  dead." 

There  is  a  rustle  in  the  leaves  as  Peroo 
wriggles  himself  into  a  more  comfortable 
seat. 

"  Shall  I  send  2.  piinkha-coolie  after  him  }  " 
suggests  the  bearer. 

This  is  not  good.  Peroo  might  fall  and 
hurt  himself.  Besides  I  have  no  desire  to 
employ  native  troops.  They  demand  too 
much  batta.     Th^  pu?ik/ia-coolie  would  expect 


The  Smith  Administration     239 

four  annas  for  capturing  Peroo.  I  will  deal 
with  the  robber  myself.  He  shall  be  treated 
judicially,  when  the  excitement  of  wrong-doing 
shall  have  died  away,  as  befits  his  tender 
years,  with  an  old  bedroom  slipper,  and  the 
bearer  shall  hold  him.  Yes,  he  shall  be 
smacked  three  times, — once  gently,  once 
moderately,  and  once  severely.  After  the 
punishment  shall  come  the  fine.  He  shall 
help  the  malli  (gardener)  to  keep  the  flower- 
beds in  order  for  a  week,  and  then — 

"  Sahib  !  Sahib  !    Can  I  come  down  ? " 

The  rebel  treats  for  terms. 

*' Peroo,  you  are  a  imt  ait  (a  young 
imp)." 

"  It  was  my  father  s  order.  He  told  me  to 
get  sticks." 

*  From  this  tree  ?  " 

"Yes;  Protector  of  the  Poor.  He  said 
the  Sahib  would  not  come  back  from  office 
till  I  had  gathered  many  sticks." 

"  Your  father  didn't  tell  me  that." 

"  My  father  is  a  liar.  Sahib  !  Sahib  !  Are 
you  going  to  hit  me  ?  " 

"  Come  down  and  I'll  think  about  it." 

Peroo  drops  as  far  as  the  third  fork,  sees 
the  whips,  and   hesitates. 

"If  you  will  take  away  the  whips  I  will 
come  down." 

There  is  a  frankness  in  this  negotiation 
that  I  respect.  I  stoop,  pick  up  the  whips, 
and  turn  to  throw  them  into  the  verandah. 

Follows  a  rustle,  a  sound  of  scraped   bark, 


240     The  Smith  Administration 

and  a  thud.  When  I  turn,  Peroo  is  down, 
off  and  over  the  compound  wall.  He  has 
not  dropped  the  stolen  fire-wood,  and  I  feel 
distinctly  foolish. 

My  prestige,  so  far  as  Peroo  is  concerned, 
is  gone. 

This  Administration  will  now  go  indoors 
for  a  drink, 


The  Smith  Administration     241 


THE  SERAI   CABAL. 

Upon  the  evidence  of  a  scullion,  I,  the 
State,  rose  up  and  made  sudden  investigation 
of  the  crowded  serai.  There  I  found  and  dis- 
missed, as  harmful  to  public  morals,  a  lady 
in  a  pink  saree  who  was  masquerading  as 
somebody's  wife.  The  utter  and  abject  lone- 
liness of  the  mussalcki^  that  outcast  of  the 
cookroom,  should.  Orientally  speaking,  have 
led  him  to  make  a  favorable  report  to  his 
fellow-servants.  That  he  did  not  do  so  I 
attributed  to  a  certain  hardness  of  character 
brought  out  by  innumerable  kickings  and 
scanty  fare.  Therefore  I  acted  on  his  evi- 
dence and,  in  so  doing,  brought  down  the 
wrath  of  the  entire  serai,  not  on  my  head, — 
for  they  were  afraid  of  me, — but  on  the  hum- 
ble head  of  Karim  Baksh,  mussalchi.  He 
had  accused  the  bearer  of  inaccuracy  in  money 
matters,  and  the  khansa7nah  of  idleness  ;  be- 
sides bringing  about  the  ejectment  of  fifteen 
people — men,  women,  and  children — related 
by  holy  and  unholy  ties  to  all  the  servants. 
Can  you  wonder  that  Karim  Baksh  was  a 
marked  boy?  Departmentally,  he  was  under 
the  control  of  the  khajisainah,  I  myself  taking 
but  small  mterest  in  the  subordinate  appoint- 
ments on  my  staff.  Two  days  after  the  evi- 
dence had  been  tendered,  I  was  not  surprised 
16 


242     The  Smith  Administration 

to  learn  that  Karim  Baksh  had  been  dis- 
missed by  his  superior  ;  reason  given,  that  he 
was  personally  unclean.  It  is  a  fundamental 
maxim  of  my  administration  that  all  power 
delegated  is  liable  to  sudden  and  unexpected 
resumption  at  the  hands  of  the  Head.  This 
prevents  the  right  of  the  Lord-Proprietor  from 
lapsing  by  time.  The  khansamah^ s  decision 
was  reversed  without  reason  given,  and  the 
enemies  of  Karim  Baksh  sustained  their  first 
defeat.  They  were  bold  in  making  their  first 
move  so  soon.  I,  Smith,  who  devote  hours 
that  would  be  better  spent  on  honest  money- 
getting,  to  the  study  of  my  servants,  knew 
they  would  now  try  less  direct  tactics.  Karim 
Baksh  slept  soundly,  over  against  the  dram 
that  carries  off  the  water  of  my  bath,  as  the 
enemy  conspired. 

One  night  I  was  walking  round  the  house 
when  the  pungent  stench  of  a  hookah  drifted 
out  of  the  pantry.  A  hookah,  out  of  place,  is 
to  me  an  abomination.  I  removed  it  gingerly, 
and  demanded  the  name  of  the  owner.  Out 
of  the  darkness  sprang  a  man,  who  said, 
*'  Karim  Baksh  !  "  It  was  the  bearer.  Run- 
ning my  hand  along  the  stem,  I  felt  the  loop  of 
leather  which  a  cha7?iar  attaches,  or  should 
attach,  to  his  pipe,  lest  higher  castes  be  defiled 
unwittingly.  The  bearer  lied,  for  the  burning 
hookah  was  a  device  of  the  groom — friend  of 
the  lady  in  the  pink  sa?'£e — to  compass  the 
downfall  of  Karim  Baksh.  So  the  second 
move  of  the  enemy  was   foiled,   and  Karim 


The  Smith  Administration     243 

Baksh  asleep  as  dogs  sleep,  by  the  drain,  took 
no  harm. 

Came  thirdly,  after  a  decent  interval  to 
give  me  time  to  forget  the  Private  Services 
Commission,  the  gunmamah  (the  anonymous 
letter) — stuck  into  the  frame  of  the  looking- 
glass.  Karim  Baksh  had  proposed  an  elope- 
ment with  the  sweeper's  wife,  and  the  morality 
of  the  se?'ai  was  in  danger.  Also  the  sweeper 
threatened  murder,  which  could  be  avoided 
by  the  dismissal  of  Karim  Baksh.  The  blear- 
eyed  orphan  heard  the  charge  against  him 
unmoved,  and,  at  the  end,  turning  his  face  to 
the  sun,  said  :  "  Look  at  me.  Sahib  !  Am  I 
the  man  a  woman  runs  away  with  ?  "  Then 
pointing  to  the  ayah,  "  Or  she  the  woman  to 
tempt  a  Mussulman  ?  "  Low  as  was  Karim 
Baksh,  the  miissalchi,  he  could  by  right  of 
creed  look  down  upon  a  she-sweeper.  The 
charge  under  Section  498,  I.  P.  C,  broke 
down  in  silence  and  tears,  and  thus  the  third 
attempt  of  the  enemy  came  to  naught. 

I,  Smith,  who  have  some  knowledge  of  my 
subjects,  knew  that  the  next  charge  would  be 
a  genuine  one,  based  on  the  weakness  of 
Karim  Baksh,  which  was  clumsiness — phenom- 
enal ineptitude  of  hand  and  foot.  Nor  was 
I  disappointed.  A  fortnight  passed,  and  the 
bearer  and  the  M^^/zj-f^Wf^/z  simultaneously  pre- 
ferred charges  against  Karim  Baksh.  He  had 
broken  two  tea-cups  and  had  neglected  to 
report  their  loss  to  me  ;  the  value  of  the  tea- 
cups was  four  annas.      They  must  have  spent 


244     The  Smith  Administration 

days  spying  upon  Karim  Baksh,  for  he  was  a 
morose  and  solitary  boy  who  did  his  cup- 
cleaning  alone. 

Taxed  with  the  fragments,  Karim  Baksh 
attempted  no  defense.  Things  were  as  the 
witnesses  said,  and  I  was  his  father  and  his 
mother.  By  my  rule,  a  servant  who  does  not 
confess  a  fault  suffers,  when  that  fault  is  dis- 
covered, severe  punishment.  But  the  red 
Hanumafi^  who  grins  by  the  well  in  the  bazaar, 
prompted  the  bearer  at  that  moment  to  ex- 
press his  extreme  solicitude  for  the  honor  and 
dignity  of  my  service.  Literally  translated, 
the  sentence  ran,  "  The  zeal  of  thy  house  has 
eaten  me  up. " 

Then  an  immense  indignation  and  disgust 
took  possession  of  me,  Smith,  who  have  trod- 
den, as  far  as  an  Englishman  may  tread,  the 
miry  gulleys  of  native  thought.  I  knew — none 
better — the  peculations  of  the  bearer,  the  vices 
of  the  kha7isa77iah,  and  the  abject,  fawning 
acquiescence  with  which  these  two  men  would 
meet  the  basest  wish  that  my  mind  could  con- 
ceive. And  they  talked  to  me — thieves  and 
worse  that  they  were — of  their  desire  that  I 
should  be  well  served  !  Lied  to  me  as  though 
I  had  been  a  griff  but  twenty  minutes  landed 
on  the  Apollo  Bunder  !  In  the  middle  stood 
Karim  Baksh,  silent  ;  on  either  side  was  an 
accuser,  broken  tea-cup  in  hand  ;  the  khansa- 
niah,  mindful  of  the  banished  lady  in  the  pink 
saree ;  the  bearer  remembering  that,  since  the 
date  of  the  Private  Services  Commission,  the 


The  Smith  Aaministration     245 

whisky  and  the  rupees  had  been  locked  up. 
And  they  talked  of  the  shortcomings  of  Karim 
Baksh — the  outcast — the  boy  too  ugly  to 
achieve  and  too  stupid  to  conceive  sin — a 
blunderer  at  the  worst.  Taking  each  accuser 
by  the  nape  of  his  neck,  I  smote  their  cunning 
skulls  the  one  against  the  other,  till  they  saw 
stars  by  the  firmamentful.  Then  I  cast  them 
from  me,  for  I  was  sick  of  them,  knowing  how 
long  they  had  worked  in  secret  to  compass 
the  downfall  of  Karim  Baksh. 

And  they  laid  their  hands  upon  their  mouths 
and  were  dumb,  for  they  saw  that  I,  Smith, 
knew  to  what  end  they  had  striven. 

This  Administration  may  not  control  a 
revenue  of  seventy-two  millions,  more  or  less, 
per  annum,  but  it  is  wiser  than — some  peo- 
ple. 


246     The  Smith  Administration 


THE  STORY  OF  A  KING. 

If  there  be  any  idle  people  who  remember 
the  campaign  against  Peroo,  the  cow-man's 
son,  or  retain  any  recollection  of  the  great 
intrigue  set  afoot  by  all  the  servants  against 
the  scullion, — if,  I  say,  there  be  any  who  bear 
in  mind  these  notable  episodes  in  my  ad- 
ministration, I  would  pray  their  attention  to 
what  follows. 

The  Gazette  of  hidia  shows  that  I  have 
been  absent  for  two  months  from  the  station 
in  which  is  my  house. 

The  day  before  I  departed,  I  called  the 
Empire  together,  from  the  bearer  to  the  sals' 
friends'  hanger-on,  and  it  numbered,  with 
wives  and  babes,  thirty-seven  souls — all  well- 
fed,  prosperous,  and  contented  under  my  rule, 
which  includes  free  phenyle  and  quinine.  I 
made  a  speech — a  long  speech — to  the  listen- 
ing peoples.  I  announced  that  the  inesti- 
mable boon  of  local  self-government  was  to  be 
theirs  for  the  next  eight  weeks.  They  said 
that  it  was  "good  talk."  I  laid  upon  the 
Departments  concerned  the  charge  of  my 
garden,  my  harness,  my  house,  my  horse,  my 
guns,  my  furniture,  all  the  screens  in  front  of 
the  doors,  both  cows,  and  the  little  calf  that 
was  to  come.  I  charged  them  by  their  hope 
of  presents  in   the  future  to   act  cleanly  and 


The  Smith  Administration     247 

carefully  by  my  chattels  ;  to  abstain  from  fight- 
ing, and  to  keep  the  serai  sweet.  That  this 
might  be  done  under  the  eye  of  authority,  I 
appointed  a  Viceroy — the  very  strong  man 
Bahadur  Khan,  khihnatgar  to  wit — and,  that 
he  might  have  a  material  hold  over  his  sub- 
jects, gave  him  an  ounce-phial  of  cinchona 
febrifuge,  to  distribute  against  the  fevers  of 
September.  Lastly — and  of  this  I  have  never 
sufficiently  repented — I  gave  all  of  them  their 
two  months'  wages  in  advance.  They  were 
desperately  poor  some  of  them, — how  poor 
only  I  and  the  money-lender  knew, — but  I 
repent  still  of  my  act.  A  rich  democracy 
inevitably  rots. 

Eliminating  that  one  financial  error,  could 
any  man  have  done  better  than  I  ?  I  know  he 
could  not,  for  I  took  a  plebiscite  of  the  Empire 
on  the  matter,  and  it  said  with  one  voice  that 
my  scheme  was  singularly  right.  On  that  as- 
surance I  left  it  and  went  to  lighter  pleasures. 

On  the  fourth  day  came  the  gum7iameh.  In 
my  heart  of  hearts  I  had  expected  one,  but 
not  so  soon — oh,  not  so  soon  !  It  was  on  a 
postcard,  and  preferred  serious  accusations  of 
neglect  and  immorality  against  Bahadur  Khan, 
my  Viceroy.  I  understood  then  the  value  of 
the  anonymous  letter.  However  much  you 
despise  it,  it  breeds  distrust — especially  when 
it  arrives  with  every  other  mail.  To  my  shame 
be  it  said  I  caused  a  watch  to  be  set  on  Baha- 
dur Khan,  employing  a  tender  Babu.  But  it 
was    too   late.     An   urgent   private    telegram 


248     The  Smith  Administration 

informed  me  :  "  Bahadur  Khan  secreted 
sweeper's  daughter.  House  leaks."  The 
head  of  my  administration,  the  man  with  all 
the  cinchona  febrifuge,  had  proved  untrust- 
worthy, and — the  house  leaked.  The  agonies 
of  managing  an  Empire  from  the  Hills  can  only 
be  appreciated  by  those  who  have  made  the 
experiment.  Before  I  had  been  three  weeks 
parted  from  my  country,  I  was  compelled,  by 
force  of  circumstance,  to  rule  it  on  paper, 
through  a  hireling  executive — the  Babu — total- 
ly incapable  of  understanding  the  wants  of  my 
people,  and,  in  the  nature  of  things,  purely 
temporary.  He  had,  at  some  portion  of  his 
career,  been  in  a  subordinate  branch  of  the 
Secretariat.  His  training  there  had  paralyzed 
him.  Instead  of  taking  steps  when  Bahadur 
Khan  eloped  with  the  sweeper's  daughter, 
whom  I  could  well  have  spared,  and  the  cin- 
chona febrifuge, which  I  knew  would  be  wanted, 
he  wrote  me  voluminous  reports  on  both  thefts. 
The  leakage  of  the  house  he  dismissed  in  one 
paragraph,  merely  stating  that  "  much  furniture 
had  been  swamped."  I  wrote  to  my  landlord, 
a  Hindu  of  the  old  school.  He  replied  that 
he  could  do  nothing  so  long  as  my  servants 
piled  cut  fuel  on  the  top  of  the  houses,  strain- 
ing the  woodwork  of  the  verandas.  Also,  he 
said  that  the  bhisti  (water-carrier)  refused  to 
recognize  his  authority,  or  to  sprinkle  water 
on  the  road-metal  which  was  then  being  laid 
down  for  the  carriage  drive.  On  this  an- 
nouncement came  a  letter  from  the  Babu,  in- 


The  Smith  Administration     249 

timating  that  bad  fever  had  broken  out  in  the 
se7'ai^  and  that  the  servants  falsely  accused 
him  of  having  bought  the  cinchona  febrifuge 
of  Bahadur  Khan,  ex- Viceroy,  now  political 
fugitive,  for  the  purpose  of  vending  retail. 
The  fever  and  not  the  false  charge  interested 
me.  I  suggested — this  by  wire — that  the  Babu 
should  buy  quinine.  In  three  days  he  wrote 
to  know  whether  he  should  purchase  common 
or  Europe  quinine,  and  whether  I  would  repay 
him.  I  sent  the  quinine  down  by  parcel  post, 
and  sighed  for  Bahadur  Khan  with  all  his 
faults.  Had  he  only  stayed  to  look  after  my 
people,  I  would  have  forgiven  the  affair  of  the 
sweeper's  daughter.  He  was  immoral,  but  an 
administrator,  and  would  have  done  his  best 
with  the  fever. 

In  course  of  time  my  leave  came  to  an  end, 
and  I  descended  on  my  Empire,  expecting  the 
worst.  Nor  was  I  disappointed.  In  the  first 
place,  the  horses  had  not  been  shod  for  two 
months  ;  in  the  second,  the  garden  had  not 
been  touched  for  the  same  space  of  time ;  in 
the  third,  the  serai  was  unspeakably  filthy  ;  in 
the  fourth,  the  house  was  inches  deep  in  dust, 
and  there  were  muddy  stams  on  most  of  the 
furniture  ;  in  the  fifth,  the  house  had  never 
been  opened  ;  in  the  sixth,  seventeen  of  my 
people  had  gone  away  and  two  had  died  of 
fever ;  in  the  seventh,  the  little  calf  was  dead. 
Eighthly  and  lastly,  the  remnant  of  my  retain- 
ers were  fighting  furiously  among  themselves, 
clique  against  clique,  creed  against  creed,  and 


2So     The  Smith  Administration 

woman  against  woman  ;  this  last  was  the  most 
overwhelming  of  all.  It  was  a  dreary  home- 
coming. The  Empire  formed  up  two  deep 
round  the  carriage  and  began  to  explain  its 
grievances.  It  wept  and  recriminated  and 
abused  till  it  was  dismissed.  Next  morning 
I  discovered  that  its  finances  were  in  a  most 
disorganized  condition.  It  had  borrowed 
money  for  a  wedding,  and  to  recoup  itself  had 
invented  little  bills  of  imaginary  expenses 
contracted  during  my  absence. 

For  three  hours  I  executed  judgment,  and 
strove  as  best  I  could  to  repair  a  wasted, 
neglected,  and  desolate  realm.  By  4  P.M.  the 
ship  of  state  had  been  cleared  of  the  greater 
part  of  the  raffle,  and  its  crew — to  continue 
the  metaphor — had  beaten  to  quarters,  united 
and  obedient  once  more. 

Though  I  knew  the  fault  lay  with  Bahadur 
Khan — wicked,  abandoned,  but  decisive  and 
capable-of-ruling-men  Bahadur  Khan — I  could 
not  rid  myself  of  the  thought  that  I  was  wrong 
in  leaving  my  people  so  long  to  their  own 
devices. 

But  this  was  absurd.  A  man  can't  spend 
all  his  time  looking  after  his  servants,  can 
he? 


The  Smith  Administration     251 


THE  GREAT  CENSUS. 

MowGi  was  a  77iehter  (a  sweeper),  but  he 
was  also  a  Punjabi,  and  consequently,  had  a 
head  on  his  shoulders.  Mowgi  was  my  niehter 
— the  property  of  Smith  who  governs  a  vast 
population  of  servants  with  unprecedented 
success.  When  he  was  my  subject  I  did  not 
appreciate  him  properly.  I  called  him  lazy 
and  unclean  ;  I  protested  against  the  multitude 
of  his  family.  Mowgi  asked  for  his  dismissal, 
— he  was  the  only  servant  who  ever  volun- 
tarily left  the  Shadow  of  my  Protection, — and 
I  said  :  "  O  Mowgi,  either  you  are  an  irreclaim- 
able ruffian  or  a  singularly  self-reliant  man. 
In  either  case  you  will  come  to  great  grief. 
Where  do  you  intend  to  go  1  "  *'  God  knows," 
said  Mowgi,  cheerfully.  "  I  shall  leave  my 
wdfe  and  all  the  children  here,  and  go  some- 
where el^se.  If  youy  Sahib,  turn  them  out, 
they  will  die  !  For  you  are  their  only  pro- 
tector. " 

So  I  was  dowered  with  Mowgi's  wife — 
wives  rather,  for  he  had  forgotten  the  new 
one  from  Rawalpindi ;  and  Mowgi  went  out 
to  the  unknown,  and  never  sent  a  single 
letter  to  his  family.  The  wives  used  to  clam- 
or in  the  verandah  and  accuse  me  of  having 
taken  the  remittances,  which  they  said  Mowgi 
must  have  sent,  to   help    out   my   awn  pay. 


252     The  Smith  Administration 

When  I  supported  them  they  were  quite  sure 
of  the  theft.  For  these  reasons  I  was  angry 
with  the  absent  Mowgi. 

Time  passed,  and  I,  the  great  Smith,  went 
abroad  on  travels  and  left  my  Empire  in  Com- 
mission. The  wives  were  the  feudatory  Na- 
tive States,  but  the  Commission  could  not 
make  them  recognize  any  feudal  tie.  They 
both  got  married,  saying  that  Mowgi  was  a 
bad  man,  but  they  never  left  my  compound. 

In  the  course  of  my  wanderings  I  came  to 
the  great  Native  State  of  Ghorahpur,  which, 
as  every  one  knows,  is  on  the  borders  of  the 
Indian  Desert.  None  the  less,  it  requires 
almost  as  many  printed  forms  for  its  proper 
administration  as  a  real  district.  Among  its 
other  peculiari  ties,  it  was  proud  of  its  prisoners 
— kaidis  they  were  called.  In  the  old  days 
Ghorahpur  was  wont  to  run  its  dacoits  through 
the  stomach  or  cut  them  with  swords  ;  but 
now  it  prides  itself  on  keeping  them  in  leg- 
irons  and  employing  them  on  "  remunerative 
labor,"  that  is  to  say,  sitting  in  the  sun  by 
the  side  of  a  road  and  waiting  until  some 
road-metal  comes  and  lays  itself  down. 

A  gang  of  kaidis  was  hard  at  work  in  this 
fashion  when  I  came  by,  and  the  warder  was 
picking  his  teeth  with  the  end  of  his  bayonet. 
One  of  the  fettered  sinners  came  forward  and 
salaamed  ^^^"^Xy  to  me.  It  was  Mowgi, — fat, 
well  fed,  and  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye.  "  Is 
the  Presence  in  good  health  and  are  all  in  his 
house  well?"    said    Mowgi.     "What  in    the 


The  Smith  Administration     253 

world  are  you  doing  here  ? "  demanded  the 
Presence.  "By  your  honors  favor  I  am  in 
prison,"  said  he,  shaking  one  leg  delicately  to 
make  the  ankle-iron  jingle  on  the  leg-bar,  "  I 
have  been  in  prison  nearly  a  month.  ' 

"  What  for— dacoity  ? '' 

"I  have  been  a  Sahib's  servant,"  said 
Mowgi,  offended.  "  Do  you  think  that  I 
should  ever  become  a  low  dacoit  like  these 
men  here  ?  I  am  in  prison  for  making  a 
numbering  for  the  people.'' 

"  A  what  ? "  Mowgi  grinned,  and  told  the 
tale  of  his  misdeeds  thus  : — 

"  When  I  left  your  service.  Sahib,  I  w'ent 
to  Delhi,  and  from  Delhi  I  came  to  the  Samb- 
hur  Salt  Lake  over  there  !  "  He  pointed 
across  the  sand.  "  I  was  a  Jemadar  of  mehters 
(a  headman  of  sweepers)  there,  because  these 
Marwarri  people  are  without  sense.  Then 
they  gave  me  leave  because  they  said  I  had 
stolen  money.  It  was  true,  but  I  was  also 
very  glad  to  go  away,  for  my  legs  were  sore 
from  the  salt  of  the  Sambhur  Lake.  I  went 
away  and  hired  a  camel  for  twenty  rupees  a 
month.  That  was  shameful  talk,  but  these 
thieves  of  Marwarris  would  not  let  me  have 
it  for  less.'' 

"  Where  did  you  get  the  money  from  ?  "  I 
asked. 

"  I  have  said  that  I  had  stolen  it.  I  am  a 
poor  man.    I  could  not  get  it  by  any  other  way." 

*'  But  what  did  you  want  with  a  camel  ?" 

"The  Sahib  shall  hear.     In  the  house  of  a 


254     The  Smith  Administration 

certain  Sahib  at  Sambhur  was  a  big  book 
which  came  from  Bombay,  and  whenever  the 
Sahib  wanted  anything  to  eat  or  good  tobacco, 
he  looked  into  the  book  and  wrote  a  letter  to 
Bombay,  and  in  a  week  all  the  things  came  as 
he  had  ordered — ^soap  and  sugar  and  boots. 
I  took  that  book ;  it  was  a  fat  one ;  and  I 
shaved  my  moustache  in  the  manner  of  Ma- 
hometans, and  I  got  upon  my  camel  and  went 
away  from  that  bad  place  of  Sambhur." 

"  Where  did  you  go  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  say.  I  went  for  four  days  over 
the  sand  till  I  was  very  far  from  Sambhur. 
Then  I  came  to  a  village  and  said  :  '  I  am 
Wajib  Ali,  Bahadur,  a  servant  of  the  Govern- 
ment, and  many  men  are  wanted  to  go  and 
fight  in  Cabul.  The  order  is  written  in  this 
book.  How  many  strong  men  have  you  .?' 
They  were  afraid  because  of  my  big  book, 
and  because  they  were  without  sense.  They 
gave  me  food,  and  all  the  headmen  gave  me 
rupees  to  spare  the  men  in  that  village,  and  I 
went  away  from  there  with  nineteen  rupees. 
The  name  of  that  village  was  Kot.  And  as  I 
had  done  at  Kot,  so  I  did  at  other  villages, — 
Waka,  Tung,  Malair,  Palan,  Myokal,  and 
other  places, — always  getting  rupees  that  the 
names  of  the  strong  young  men  might  not  be 
written  down.  I  went  from  Bikanir  to  Jey- 
sulmir,  till  my  book  in  which  I  always  looked 
wisely  so  as  to  frighten  the  people,  was  back- 
broken,  and  I  got  one  thousand  seven  hundred 
and  eight  rupees  twelve  annas  and  six  pies," 


The  Smith  Administration     255 

'*  All  from  a  camel  and  a  Treacher's  Price 
List  ? " 

"  I  do  not  know  the  name  of  the  book,  but 
these  people  were  very  frightened  of  me.  But 
I  tried  to  take  my  takkiis  from  a  servant  of 
this  State,  and  he  made  a  report,  and  they 
sent  troopers,  who  caught  me, — me,  and  my 
little  camel,  and  my  big  book.  Therefore  I 
was  sent  to  prison." 

"  Mowgi,"  said  I,  solemnly,  "if  this  be  true, 
you  are  a  great  man.  When  will  you  be  out 
of  prison  1 " 

"  In  one  year.  I  got  three  months  for  tak- 
ing the  numbering  of  the  people,  and  one  year 
for  pretending  to  be  a  Mahometan.  But  I 
may  run  away  before.  All  these  people  are 
very  stupid  men." 

*'  My  arms,  Mowgi,"  I  said,  ^'  will  be  open 
to  you  when  the  term  of  your  captivity  is 
ended.     You  shall  be  my  body-servant." 

"The  Presence  is  my  father  and  my 
mother,"  said  Mowgi.     "  I  will  come." 

*'The  wives  have  married,  Mowgi,"  I  said. 

"  No  matter,"  said  Mowgi.  "  I  also  have  a 
wife  at  Sambhur  and  one  here.  When  I  re- 
turn to  the  service  of  the  Presence,  which  one 
shall  I  bring  ?  " 

"  Which  one  you  please." 

"  The  Presence  is  my  protection  and  a  son 
of  the  gods,"  said  Mowgi.  "Without  doubt  I 
will  come  as  soon  as  I  can  escape." 

I  am  waiting  now  for  the  return  of  Mowgi. 
I  will  make  him  overseer  of  all  my  house. 


256     The  Smith  Administration 


THE  KILLING  OF  HATIM  TAI 

Now  Hatint  Tai  was  condemned  to  death 
by  the  Government,  because  he  had  stepped 
upon  his  mahout,  broken  his  near-hind  leg- 
chain,  and  punched  poor  old  pursy  Durga 
Fershad  in  the  ribs  till  that  venerable  beast 
squealed  for  mercy.  Hati7?i  Tai  was  danger- 
ous to  the  community,  and  the  mahoufs 
widow  said  that  her  husband's  soul  would 
never  rest  till  Hatim^s  little,  piglike  eye  was 
glazed  in  the  frost  of  death.  Did  Haiim 
care  .-*  Not  he.  He  trumpeted  as  he  swung 
at  his  pickets,  and  he  stole  as  niuch  of  Durga 
Fershad's  food  as  he  could.  Then  he  went 
to  sleep  and  looked  that  **all  the  to-morrows 
should  be  as  to-day,"  and  that  he  should 
never  carry  loads  again.  But  the  minions  of 
the  Law  did  not  sleep.  They  came  by  night 
and  scanned  the  huge  bulk  of  Hativi  Tai,  and 
took  council  together  how  he  might  best  be 
slain. 

"  If  we  borrowed  a  seven-pounder,"  began 
the  Subaltern,  "  or,  better  still,  if  we  turned 
him  loose  and  had  the  Horse  Battery  out !  A 
general  inspection  would  be  nothing  to  it !  I 
wonder  whether  my  Major  would  see  it  ?  " 

"  Skittles,"  said  all  the  Doctors  togeth- 
er. "  He's  our  property."  They  severally 
murmured,    "  arsenic,"     "  strychnine,"     and 


The  Smith  Administration     257 

"  opium,"  and  went  their  way,  while  Hatim 
Tai  dreamed  of  elephant  loves,  wooed  and 
won  long  ago  in  the  Doon.  The  day  broke, 
and  savage  mahouts^  led  him  away  to  the  place 
of  execution  ;  for  he  was  quiet,  being  "  fey," 
as  are  both  men  and  beasts  when  they  ap- 
proach the  brink  of  the  grave  unknowing.  "  Ha, 
Salah  I  Ha,  Bicd77iash  !  To-day  you  die  !  " 
shouted  the  niahoiits^  "  and  Mangli's  ghost 
will  rode  you  with  an  anhis  heated  in  the 
flames  of  Piit^  O  murderer  and  tun-bellied 
thief."  '*  A  long  journey,"  thought  Hatim 
Tai.  "  '  Wonder  what  they'll  do  at  the  end  of 
it."  He  broke  off  the  branch  of  a  tree  and 
tickled  himself  on  his  jowl  and  ears.  And  so 
he  walked  into  the  place  of  execution,  where 
men  waited  with  many  chains  and  grievous 
ropes,  and  bound  him  as  he  had  never  been 
bound  before. 

"  Foolish  people  !  "  said  Hatim  Tai.  "  Al- 
most as  foolish  as  Mangli  when  he  called  me 
— the  pride  of  all  the  Doon,  the  brightest 
jewel  in  Sanderson  Sahib's  crown — a  '  base- 
born.'  I  shall  break  these  ropes  in  a  minute 
or  two,  and  then,  between  my  fore  and  hind 
legs,  some  one  is  like  to  be  hurt." 

"  How  much  d'you  think  he'll  want  ?  "  said 
the  first  Doctor.  "  About  two  ounces,"  an- 
swered the  second.  "  Say  three  to  be  on  the 
safe  side,"  said  the  first  ;  and  they  did  up  the 
three  ounces  of  arsenic  in  a  ball  of  sugar. 
*'  Before  a  fight  it  is  best  to  eat,"  said  Hatim 
Tai,  and  he  put  away  the  gur  with  a  salaam  ; 
17 


258     The  Smith  Admimstration 

for  he  prided  himself  upon  his  manners. 
The  men  fell  back,  and  Hatim  Tat  was  con- 
scious of  grateful  warmth  in  his  stomach. 
"  Bless  their  innocence  ! "  thought  he. 
"  The3^'ve  given  me  a  mussala.  I  don't  think 
I  want  it  ;  but  I'll  show  that  I'm  not  ungrate- 
ful." 

And  he  did  !  The  chains  and  the  ropes  held 
firm.  "It's  beginning  to  work,"  said  a  Doc- 
tor. "Nonsense,"  said  the  Subaltern.  "I 
know  old  Hat'nn's  ways.  He's  lost  his  tem- 
per.    If  the  ropes  break  we're  done  for. " 

Hathn  kicked  and  wriggled  and  squealed 
and  did  his  best,  so  far  as  his  anatomy  al- 
lowed, to  buck-jump  ;  but  the  ropes  stretched 
not  one  inch. 

"  I  am  making  a  fool  of  myself,"  he  trum- 
peted. "  I  must  be  calm.  At  seventy  years 
of  age  one  should  behave  with  dignity.  None 
the  less,  these  ropes  are  excessively  galling." 
He  ceased  his  struggles,  and  rocked  to  and 
fro  sulkily.  "  He  is  going  to  fall !  "  whispered 
a  Doctor,  "  Not  a  bit  of  it.  Now  it's  my 
turn.  We'll  try  the  strychnine,^'  said  the 
second. 

Prick  a  large  and  healthy  tiger  with  a  cork- 
ing-pin, and  you  will,  in  some  small  measure, 
realize  the  difficulty  of  injecting  strychnine 
subcutaneously  into  an  elephant  nine  feet  elev- 
en inches  and  one-half  at  the  shoulder.  Hatim 
Tai  forgot  his  dignity  and  stood  on  his  head, 
while  all  the  world  wondered.  "  I  told  you 
that  would  fetch  him  !  "  shouted  the  apostle 


The  Smith  Administration     259 

of  strychnine,  waving  an  enormous  bottle. 
*'  That's  the  death-rattle  !    Stand  back  all  !  " 

But  it  was  only  Hatim  Tai  expressing  his 
regret  that  he  had  slain  Mangli^  and  so  fallen 
into  the  hands  of  the  most  incompetent  ma- 
houts that  he  had  ever  made  string-stirrups.  "  I 
was  never  jabbed  with  an  ankus  all  over  my 
body  before  ;  and  I  wonU  stand  it !  "  blared 
Hatim  Tai.  He  stood  upon  his  head  afresh 
and  kicked.  "  Final  convulsion,"  said  the 
Doctor,  just  as  Hatii7i  Tai  grew  weary  and  set- 
tled into  peace  again.  After  all,  it  was  not 
worth  behaving  like  a  baby.  He  would 
be  calm.  He  was  calm  for  two  hours,  and 
the  Doctors  looked  at  their  watches  and 
yawned. 

"  Now  it's  my  turn,"  said  the  third  Doctor. 
"■  Afim  lao."  They  brought  it — a  knob  of 
Patna  opium  of  the  purest,  in  weight  half  a 
seer.  Hatim  swallowed  it  whole.  Ghazipur 
excise  opium,  two  cakes  of  a  seer  each,  fol- 
lowed, helped  down  with  much  gur.  "  This 
is  good,"  said  Hatim  Tai.  "  They  are  sorry 
for  their  rudeness.     Give  me  some  more." 

The  hours  wore  on,  and  the  sun  began  to 
sink,  but  not  so  Hatim  Tai.  The  three  Doc- 
tors cast  professional  rivalry  to  the  winds  and 
united  in  ravaging  their  dispensaries  in  Hatim 
Tai's  behalf.  Cyanide  of  potassium  amused 
him.  Bisulphide  of  mercury,  chloral  (very 
little  of  that),  sulphate  of  copper,  oxide  of 
zinc,  red  lead,  bismuth,  carbonate  of  baryta, 
corrosive   sublimate,  quicklime,    stramonium, 


26o     The  Smith  Administration 

veratrium,  colchiciim,  muriatic  acid,  and  lunar 
caustic,  all  went  down,  one  after  another,  in 
the  balls  of  sugar  ;  and  Hathn  Tai  never 
blenched. 

It  was  not  until  the  Hospital  Assistant 
clamored  :  "  All  these  things  Government 
Store  and  Medical  Comforts,"  that  the  Doc- 
tors desisted  and  wiped  their  heated  brows. 
"  '  Might  as  well  physic  a  Cairo  sarcophagus," 
grumbled  the  first  Doctor,  and  Hatirn  7"ai 
gurgled  gently  ;  meaning  that  he  would  like 
another  gu?'-baIL 

"  Bless  my  soul  !  "  said  the  Subaltern,  w'ho 
had  gone  away,  done  a  day's  work,  and  re- 
turned with  his  pet  eight-bore.  "  D'you  mean 
to  say  that  you  haven't  killed  Hatim  Tai  yet 
— three  of  you  ?  Most  unprofessional,  I  call 
it.  You  could  have  polished  off  a  battery  in 
that  time."  *'  Battery  ! ''  shrieked  the  baffled 
medicos  in  chorus.  "  He's  got  enough  poison 
in  his  system  to  settle  the  whole  blessed 
British  Army  !  " 

"Let  me  try,"  said  the  Subaltern,  unstrap- 
ping the  gun-case  in  his  dog-cart.  He  threw 
a  handkerchief  upon  the  ground,  and  passed 
quickly  in  front  of  the  elephant,  Hatim  Tai 
lowered  his  head  slightly  to  look,  and  even  as 
he  did  so  the  spherical  shell  smote  him  on 
the  "Saucer  of  Life" — the  little  spot  no 
bigger  than  a  man's  hand  which  is  six  inches 
above  a  line  drawn  from  eye  to  eye.  ^'This 
is  the  end,"  said  Hathji  Tai.  "  I  die  as  Niwaz 
Jung  died  !  "     He   strove    to    keep    his    feet, 


The  Smith  Administration     261 

staggered,  recovered,  and  reeled  afresh. 
Then,  with  one  wild  trumpet  that  rang  far 
through  the  twilight,  Ilatim  Tai  fell  dead 
among  his  pickets. 

"  Might  ha'  saved  half  your  dispensaries  if 
you'd  called  me  in  to  treat  him  at  first,"  said 
the  Subaltern,  wiping  out  the  eight-bore. 


262     The  Smith  Administration 


A  SELF-MADE  MAN. 

SuRjUN  came  back  from  Kimberley,  which 
is  Tom  Tiddler's  Ground,  where  he  had  been 
picking  up  gold  and  silver.  He  was  no  longer 
a  Purbeah.  A  real  diamond  ring  sparkled 
on  his  hand,  and  his  tweed  suit  had  cost  him 
forty-two  shillings  and  sixpence.  He  paid 
two  hundred  pounds  into  the  Bank  ;.  and  it 
was  there  that  I  caught  him  and  treated  him 
as  befitted  a  rich  man.  "  O  Surjun,  come  to 
my  house  and  tell  me  your  story.'' 

Nothing  loath,  Surjun  came — diamond  ring 
and  all.  His  speech  was  composite.  When 
he  wished  to  be  impressive,  he  spoke  English 
checkered  with  the  Low  Dutch  slang  of  the 
Diamond  Fields.  When  he  would  be  expres- 
sive, he  returned  to  his  vernacular,  and  was  as 
native  as  a  gentleman  with  sixteen  and  six- 
penny boots  could  be. 

*'  I  will  tell  you  my  tale,"  said  Surjun,  dis- 
playing the  diamond  ring.  ''  There  was  a 
friend  of  mine,  and  he  went  to  Kimberley, 
and  was  a  firm  there  selling  things  to  the 
digger-men.  In  thirteen  years  he  made  seven 
thousand  pounds.  He  came  to  me — I  was 
from  Chyebassa  in  those  days — and  said, 
'  Come  into  my  firm.'  I  went  with  him.  Oh 
no !  I  was  not  an  emigrant.  I  took  my  own 
ship,  and  we  became  the  firm  of  Surjun  and 
Jagesser.     Here  is  the  card  of  my  firm.     You 


The  Smith  Administration     263 

can  read  it :  '  Surjun  and  Jagesser  Dube,  De 
Beer's  Terrace,  De  Beer's  Fields,  Kimberley. 
We  made  an  iron  house, — all  the  houses  are 
iron  there, — and  we  sold,  to  the  diggers  and 
the  Kaffirs  and  all  sorts  of  men,  clothes,  flour, 
mealies,  that  is  Indian  corn,  sardines  and  milk, 
and  salmon  in  tins,  and  boots,  and  blankets, 
and  clothes  just  as  good  as  the  clothes  as  I 
wear  now. 

"  Kimberley  is  a  good  place.  There  are  no 
pennies  there — what  you  call//V^  — except  to 
buy  stamps  with.  Threepence  is  the  smallest 
piece  of  money,  and  even  threepence  will  not 
buy  a  drink.  A  drink  is  one  shilling,  one 
shilling  and  threepence,  or  one  shilling  and 
ninepence.  And  even  the  water  there,  it  is 
one  shilling  and  threepence  for  a  hundred  gal- 
lons in  Kimberley.  All  things  you  get  you 
pay  money  for.  Yes,  this  diamond  ring  cost 
much  money.  Here  is  the  bill,  and  there  is 
the  receipt  stamp  upon  the  bill — *  Behrendt 
of  Dutoitspan  Road.'  It  is  written  upon  the 
bill,  and  the  price  was  thirteen  pounds  four 
shillings.  It  is  a  good  diamond — Cape  dia- 
mond. That  is  why  the  color  is  a  little,  little 
soft  yellow.     x\ll  Cape  diamonds  are  so. 

"  How  did  I  get  my  money  ?  'Fore  Gott,  I 
cannot  tell,  Sahib.  You  sell  one  day,  you 
sell  the  other  day,  and  all  the  other  days — 
give  the  thing  and  take  the  money — the  money 
comes.  If  we  know  man  very  well,  we  give 
credit  one  week,  and  if  very,  very  well,  so 
much    as    one    month.     You    buy    boots   for 


264     The  Smith  Administration 

eleven  shillings  and  sixpence  ;  sell  for  sixteen 
shillings.  What  you  buy  at  one  pound,  you 
sell  for  thirty  shillings — at  Kimberley.  That 
is  the  custom.  No  good  selling  bad  things. 
All  the  digger-men  know  and  the  Kaffirs  too. 

"  The  Kaffir  is  a  strange  man.  He  comes 
into  the  shops  and  say,  taking  a  blanket, 
'  How  much  ? '  in  the  Kaffir  talk— So  !  " 

Surjun  here  delivered  the  most  wonderful 
series  of  clicks  that  I  had  ever  heard  from  a 
human  throat. 

"  That  is  how  the  Kaffir  asks  '  How  much  ? '  " 
said  Surjun,  calmly,  enjoying  the  sensation 
that  he  had  produced. 

"  Then  you  say,  '  No,  you  say,'  and  you  say 
it  so."  (More  clicks  and  a  sound  like  a  hur- 
ricane of  kisses.)  "  Then  the  Kaffir  he  say  : 
•  No,  no,  that  blanket  your  blanket,  not  my 
blanket.  You  say.'  "  "  And  how  long  does 
this  business  last  ?  "  "  Till  the  Kaffir  he 
tired,  and  says'^  answered  Surjun.  "  And 
then  do  you  begin  the  real  bargaining  ? " 
"Yes,"  said  Surjun,  "  same  as  in  bazaar  here. 
The  Kaffir  he  says,  '  I  can't  pay  ! '  Then  you 
fold  up  blanket,  and  Kaffir  goes  away.  Then 
he  comes  back  and  says  ^  gobu,'  that  is  Kaffir 
for  blanket.  And  so  you  sell  him  all  he  wants. " 

"  Poor  Kaffir  !  And  what  is  Kimberley 
like  to  look  at  ? " 

"  A  beautiful  clean  place — all  so  clean,  and 
there  is  a  very  good  law  there.  This  law. 
A  man  he  come  into  your  compound  after 
nine  o'clock,  and  say  vootsac — same  as  nickle 


The  Smith  Administration     265 

jao — and  he  doesn't  w^/i-<2^  suppose  you  shoot 
that  man  and  he  dies,  and  he  calls  you  before 
magistrate,  he  can't  do  nothing." 

"  Very  few  dead  men  can.  Are  you  allowed 
to  shoot  before  saying  vootsac '  2  " 

"  Oh  Hell,  yes  !  Shoot  if  you  see  him  in 
the  compound  after  nine  o'clock.  That  is 
the  law.  Perhaps  he  have  come  to  steal 
diamonds.  Many  men  steal  diamonds,  and  buy 
and  sell  without  license.   That  is  called  Aidibi.'' 

"What?" 

"Aidibi." 

"  Oh  !  '  I.  D.  B.'  I  see.  Well,  what  hap- 
pens to  them  ? " 

"  They  go  to  jail  for  years  and  years.  Very 
many  men  in  jail  for  I.  D.  B.  Very  many 
men  your  people,  very  few  mine.  Heaps  of 
Kaffirs.  Kaffir  he  swallows  diamond,  and 
takes  medicine  to  find  him  again.  You  get 
not  less  than  ten  years  for  I.  D.  B.  But  I  and 
my  friend,  we  stay  in  our  iron  house  and  mind 
shop.     That  too  is  the  way  to  make  money.'' 

"  Aren't  your  people  glad  to  see  you  when 
you  come  back?  " 

"  My  people  is  all  dead.  Father  dead, 
mother  dead;  and  only  brother  living  with 
some  children  across  the  river.  I  have  been 
there,  but  that  is  not  my  place.  I  belong  to 
nowhere  now.  They  are  all  dead.  After  a 
few  weeks  I  take  my  steamer  to  Kimberley, 
and  then  my  friend  he  come  here  and  put  his 
money  in  the  Bank.'' 

"Why  don't  you  bank  in  Kimberley  ?  " 


266     The  Smith  Administration 

"  I  wanted  to  see  my  brother,  and  I  have 
given  him  one  thousand  rupees.  No,  one 
hundred  pounds  ;  that  is  more,  more.  Here 
is  the  Bank  bill.  All  the  others  he  is  dead. 
There  are  some  people  of  this  country  at  Kim- 
berley, — Rajputs,  Brahmins,  Ahirs,  Parsees, 
Chamars,  Bunnias,  Telis, — all  kinds  go  there. 
But  my  people  are  dead.  I  shall  take  my 
brother's  son  back  with  me  to  Kimberley,  and 
when  he  can  talk  the  Kaffir  talk,  he  will  be 
useful,  and  he  shall  come  into  the  firm.  My 
brother  does  not  mind.  He  sees  that  I  am 
rich.  And  now  I  must  go  to  the  village,  Sahib. 
Good  day,  sir." 

Surjun  rose,  made  as  if  to  depart,  but  re- 
turned.    The  Native  had  come  to  the  top. 

^''Sahib  !    Is  this  talk  for  publish  in  paper  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  put  in  about  this  diamond  ring." 
He  went  away,  twirling  the  ring  lovingly  on 
his  finger. 

Know,  therefore,  O  Public,  by  these  presents 
that  Surjun,  son  of  Surjun,  one  time  resident 
in  the  village  of  Jhusi,  in  the  District  of  Al- 
lahabad, in  the  Northwest  Provinces,  at  pres- 
ent partner  in  the  firm  of  Surjun  and  Jagesser 
Dube,  De  Beer's  Terrace,  De  Beer's  Fields, 
Kimberley,  who  has  tempted  his  fortune  be- 
yond the  seas,  owns  legally  and  rightfully  a 
Cape  stone,  valued  at  thirteen  pounds  four 
shillings  sterling,  sold  to  him  by  Behrendt  of 
Dutoitspan  Road,  Kimberley. 

And  it  looks  uncommonly  well. 


The  Smith  Administration     267 


THE  VENGEANCE  OF  LAL  BEG 

This  is  the  true  story  of  the  terrible  disgrace 
that  came  to  JuUundri  mehter,  through  Jamuna, 
his  wife.  Those  who  say  that  a  mehter  has 
no  caste  speak  in  ignorance,  Those  who 
say  that  there  is  a  caste  in  the  Empire  so 
mean  and  so  abject  that  there  are  no  castes 
below  it,  speak  in  greater  ignorance.  The 
arain  says  that  the  chamar  has  no  caste  ;  the 
cha77iar  knows  that  the  mehter  has  none  ;  and 
the  mehter  swears  by  Lai  Beg,  his  god,  that 
the  od  whose  god  is  Bhagirat  is  without  caste. 
Below  the  od  lies  the  kaparia-bawaria  in  spite 
of  all  that  the  low-caste  Brahmins  say  or  do.  A 
Teji  mehter  or  a  Siindoo  mehter  is  as  much 
above  a  kaparia-bawaria  as  an  Englishman  is 
above  a  mehter.  Lai  Beg  is  the  Mehter-goA, 
and  his  image  is  the  Glorified  Broom  made 
of  [peacocks'  feathers,  red  cloth,  scraps  of  tinsel, 
and  the  cast-off  finery  of  English  toilette 
tables. 

Jamuna  was  a  Malka-sansi  of  Gujrat,  an 
eater  of  lizards  and  dogs,  one  "  married  under 
the  basket,"  a  worshiper  of  Malang  Shah. 
When  her  first  husband  was  cast  into  the 
Lahore  Central  Jail  for  lifting  a  pony  on  the 
banks  of  the  Ravee,  Jamuna  cut  herself  adrift 
from  her  section  of  the  tribe  and  let  it  pass 
on  to  Delhi.     She  believed   that  the  govern- 


268     The  Smith  Administration 

ment  would  keep  her  man  for  two  or  three 
days  only  ;  but  it  kept  him  for  two  years, — 
long  enough  for  a  sa?isi  to  forget  everything 
in  this  world  except  the  customs  of  her  tribe. 
Those  are  never  forgotten. 

As  she  waited  for  the  return  of  her  man, 
she  scraped  acquaintance  with  a  ^nehtrajiee 
ayah  in  the  employ  of  a  Eurasian,  and  assisted 
her  in  the  grosser  portions  of  her  work.  She 
also  earned  money, — sufficient  money  to  buy 
her  a  cloth  and  food.  ''  The  sansi^'^  as  one 
of  their  proverbs  says,  "  will  thrive  in  a 
desert."  "  What  are  you  ?  "  said  the  mehtraiiee 
to  Jamuna.  "  A  Boorat  mehtraneel^  said 
Jamuna,  for  the  sansi  as  one  of  their  prov- 
erbs says,  are  quick-witted  as  snakes.  "  A 
Boorat  w^///;'t7;/(?<?  from  the  south,"  said  Jamuna; 
and  her  statement  was  not  questioned,  for 
she  wore  good  clothes,  and  her  black  hair 
was  combed   and  neatly  parted. 

Clinging  to  the  skirts  of  the  Eurasian's  ayah 
Jamuna  climbed  to  service  under  an  English- 
man— a  railway  employe's  wife.  Jamuna  had 
ambitions.  It  was  pleasant  to  be  a  fneht?-anee 
of  good  standing.  It  will  be  better  still, 
thought  Jamuna  to  turn  Mussulman  and  be 
married  to  a  real  table-servant,  openly,  by 
the  mullah.  Such  things  had  been ;  and 
Jamuna  was  fair.' 

But  Jullundri,  mehter,  was  a  man  to  win  the 
heart  of  woman,  and  he  stole  away  Jamuna's 
in  the  dusk,  when  she  took  the  English  babies 
for  their  walks. 


The  Smith  Administration     269 

"  You  have  brought  me  a  stranger-wife. 
Why  did  you  not  marry  among  your  own 
clan  ?  "  said  his  gray-haired  mother  to  JuUun- 
dri.  "A  stranger  wife  is  a  curse  and  a  fire." 
Jullundri  laughed  ;  for  he  was  a  jemadar  of 
mekters,  drawing  seven  rupees  a  month,  and 
Jamuna  loved  him. 

"  A  curse  and  a  fire  and  a  shame,"  mut- 
tered the  old  woman,  and  she  slunk  into  her 
hut  and  cursed  Jamuna. 

But  Lai  Beg,  the  very  powerful  God  of  the 
mehte?'s^  was  not  deceived,  and  he  put  a 
stumbling-block  in  the  path  of  Jamuna  that 
brought  her  to  open  shame.  "  A  sansi  is  as 
quick-witted  as  a  snake  ;"  but  the  snake  longs 
for  the  cactus  hedge,  and  a  sa7isi  for  the 
desolate  freedom  of  the  wild  ass.  Jamuna 
knew  the  chant  of  Lai  Beg,  the  prayer  to  the 
Glorified  Broom,  and  had  sung  it  many  times 
in  rear  of  the  staggering,  tottering  pole  as  it 
was  borne  down  the  Mall.  Lai  Beg  was  in- 
sulted. 

His  great  festival  in  the  month  of  Har 
brought  him  revenge  on  Jamuna  and  Jullundri. 
Husband  and  wife  followed  the  Glorified 
Broom,  through  the  station  and  beyond,  to  the 
desolate  gray  flats  by  the  river,  near  the  Forest 
Reserve  and  the  Bridge-of-Boats.  Two  hun- 
dred meliters  shouted  and  sang  till  their  voices 
failed  them,  and  they  halted  in  the  sand,  still 
warm  with  the  day's  sun.  On  a  spit  near  the 
burning  ^^/^/,  a  band  of  sansis  had  encamped, 
and    one    of    their    number  had   brought  in  a 


2/0     The  Smith  Administration 

ragged  bag  full  of  lizards  caught  on  the 
Meean  Meer  road.  The  gang  were  singing  over 
their  captures,  singing  that  quaint  song  of  the 
Passing  of  the  Sansis,"  which  fires  the  blood 
of  all  true  thieves. 

Over  the  sand  the  notes  struck  clearly  on 
Jamuna's  ear  as  the  Lai  Beg  procession  re- 
formed and  moved  Citywards.  But  louder 
than  the  cry  of  worshipers  of  Lai  Beg  rose 
the  song  of  Jamuna,  the  sober  Boorat  inehtra- 
nee,  and  mother  of  Jullundri's  children.  Shrill 
as  the  noise  of  the  night-wind  among  rocks 
went  back  to  the  sa7isi  camp  the  answer  of  the 
"  Passing  of  the  Sansis"  and  the  mehtcrs  drew 
back  in  horror.  But  Jamuna  heard  only  the 
call  from  the  ragged  huts  by  the  river,  and 
the  call  of  the  song — 

"  The  horses,  the  horses,  the  fat  horses,  and  the  sticks, 
the  little  sticks  of  the  tents,     Aho  !     Aho  ! 

Feet  that  leave  no  mark  on  the  sand,  and  fingers  that 
leave  no  trace  on  the  door,      Ako  !    Aho  ! 

By  the  name  of  Malang  Shah  ;  in  darkness,  by  the  reed 
and  the  rope.  .  .  ." 

So  far  Jamuna  sang,  but  the  head  man  of 
the  procession  of  Lai  Beg  struck  her  heavily 
across  the  mouth,  saying,  *'  By  this  I  know 
that  thou  art  a  saiisi^ 


The  Smith  Administration     271 


HUNTING  A  MIRACLE. 

Marching-orders  as  vague  as  the  following 
naturally  ended  in  confusion  :  "  There's  a 
priest  somewhere,  in  Amritsar  or  outside  it,  or 
somewhere  else,  who  cut  off  his  tongue  some 
days  ago,  and  says  it's  grown  again.  Go  and 
look."  Amritsar  is  a  city  with  a  population 
of  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand,  more  or 
less,  and  so  huge  that  a  tramway  runs  round 
the  walls.  To  lay  hands  on  one  particular 
man  of  all  the  crowd  was  not  easy  ;  for  the 
tongue  having  grown  again,  he  would  in  no 
way  differ  from  his  fellows.  Now,  had  he  re- 
mained tongueless,  an  inspection  of  the  mouths 
of  the  passers-by  would  have  been  some  sort 
of  guide.  However,  dumb  or  tongued,  all 
Amritsar  knew  about  him.  The  small  Parsee 
boy,  who  appears  to  run  the  refreshment-room 
alone,  volunteered  the  startling  information 
that  the  "  Priest  without  the  tongue  could  be 
found  all  anywhere,  in  the  city  or  elsewhere," 
and  waved  his  little  hands  in  circles  to  show 
the  vastness  of  his  knowledge.  A  booking- 
clerk — could  it  be  possible  that  he  was  of  the 
Arya-Samaj  ? — had  also  heard  of  the  Sadku, 
and,  pen  in  hand,  denounced  him  as  an  im- 
postor, a  "bad  person,"  and  a  "fraudulent 
mendicant."  He  grew  so  excited,  and  jabbed 
his    pen    so    viciously  into    the    air   that   his 


272     The  Smith  Administration 

questioner  fled  to  a  ticca-ghari\  where  he  was 
prompted  by  some  Imp  of  Perversity  to  sim- 
ulate extreme  ignorance  of  the  language  to 
deceive  the  driver.  So  he  said  twice  with 
emphasis,  "  Sadhu  ?  "  *'  Jehan,''  said  the 
driver,  "fush-class,  Durbar  Sahib!"  Then 
the  fare  thrust  out  his  tongue,  and  the  scales 
fell  from  the  driver's  ejQS.''  Ba/iut  acc/ia^'"  said 
the  driver,  and  without  further  parley  headed 
into  the  trackless  desert  that  encircles  Fort 
Govindghar.  The  Sahib's  word  conveyed 
no  meaning  to  him,  but  he  understood  the 
gesture  ;  and,  after  a  while,  turned  the  carriage 
from  a  road  to  a  plain. 

Close  to  the  Lahore  Veterinary  School 
lies  a  cool,  brick-built,  tree-shaded  monastery, 
studded  wMth  the  tombs  of  the  pious  founders, 
adorned  with  steps,  terraces,  and  winding 
paths,  which  is  known  as  Chajju  Bhagat's 
Chubara.  This  place  is  possessed  with  the 
spirit  of  peace,  and  is  filled  by  priests  in 
salmon-colored  loin-cloths  and  a  great  odor 
of  sanctity.  The  Amritsar  driver  had  halted 
in  the  very  double  of  the  Lahore  chubara — 
assuring  his  fare  that  here  and  nowhere  else 
would  be  found  the  Sadhu  with  the  miraculous 
tongue. 

Indeed  the  surroundings  were  such  as 
delight  the  holy  men  of  the  East.  There  was 
a  sleepy  breeze  through  the  pipah  overhead, 
and  a  square  court  crammed  with  pigeon- 
holes where  one  might  sleep ;  there  were 
fair  walls   and  mounds   and  little  mud  plat- 


The  Smith  Administration     273 

forms  against  or  on  which  fires  for  cooking 
could  be  built,  and  there  were  wells  by  the 
dozen.  There  were  priests  by  the  score  who 
sprang  out  of  the  dust,  and  slid  off  balconies 
or  rose  from  cots  as  inquiries  were  made  for 
the  Sadhu.  They  were  nice  priests,  sleek, 
full-fed,  thick-jowled  beasts,  undefiled  by 
wood-ash  or  turmeric,  and  mostly  good-look- 
ing. The  older  men  sang  songs  to  the  squir- 
rels and  the  dust-puffs  that  the  light  wind  was 
raising  on  the  plain.  They  were  idle — very 
idle.  The  younger  priests  stated  that  the 
Sadhu  with  the  tongue  had  betaken  himself 
to  another  chuhara  some  miles  away,  and  was 
even  then  being  worshiped  by  hordes  of 
admirers.  They  did  not  specify  the  exact 
spot,  but  pointed  vaguely  in  the  direction  of 
Jandiala.  However,  the  driver  said  he  knew 
and  made  haste  to  depart.  The  priests  pointed 
out  courteously  that  the  weather  was  warm, 
and  that  it  would  be  better  to  rest  awhile  be- 
fore starting.  So  a  rest  was  called,  and  while 
he  sat  in  the  shadow  of  the  gate  of  the  court- 
yard, the  Englishman  realized  for  a  few 
minutes  why  it  is  that,  now  and  then,  men  of 
his  race,  suddenly  going  mad,  turn  to  the 
people  of  this  land  and  become  their  priests  ; 

as  did on  the  Bombay  side,  and  later , 

who  lived  for  a  time  with  thQ  fakir  on  the  top 
of  Jakko.  The  miraculous  idleness — the 
monumental  sloth  of  the  place  ;  the  silence 
as  the  priests  settled  down  to  sleep  one  by 
one ;  the  drowsy  drone  of  one  of  the  younger 
18 


274     The  Smith  Administration 

men  who  had  thrown  himself  stomach-down 
in  the  warm  dust  and  was  singing  under  his 
breath  ;  the  warm  airs  from  across  the  plain 
and  the  faint  smell  of  burnt  ghi  and  incense, 
laid  hold  of  the  mind  and  limbs  till,  for  at 
least  fifteen  seconds,  it  seemed  that  life  would 
be  a  good  thing  if  one  could  doze,  and  bask, 
and  smoke  from  the  rising  of  the  sun  till  the 
twilight — a  fat  hog  among  fat  hogs. 

The  chase  was  resumed,  and  the  ghari 
drove  to  Jandiala — more  or  less.  It  aban- 
doned the  main  roads  completely,  although  it 
was  a  "  fush-class,''  and  comported  itself  like 
an  ekka^  till  Amritsar  sunk  on  the  horizon, 
or  thereabouts,  and  it  pulled  up  at  a  second 
chuhafa,  more  peaceful  and  secluded  than  the 
first,  and  fenced  with  a  thicker  belt  of  trees. 
There  was  an  eruption  under  the  horses'  feet 
and  a  scattering  of  dust,  which  presently 
settled  down  and  showed  a  beautiful  young 
man  with  a  head  such  as  artists  put  on  the 
shoulders  of  Belial.  It  was  the  head  of  an 
unlicked  devil,  marvelously  handsome,  and 
it  made  the  horses  shy.  Belial  knew  nothing 
of  the  Sadhu  who  had  cut  out  the  tongue. 
He  scowled  at  the  driver,  scowled  at  the  fare, 
and  then  settled  down  in  the  dust,  laughing 
wildly,  and  pointing  to  the  earth  and  the  sky. 
Now  for  a  native  to  laugh  aloud,  without 
reason,  publicly  and  at  high  noon,  is  a  grew- 
some  thing  and  calculated  to  chill  the  blood. 
Even  the  sight  of  silver  coinage  had  no  effect 
on  Belial.     He  dilated  his  nostrils,  pursed  his 


The  Smith  Administration     275 

lips,  and  gave  himself  up  to  renewed  mirth. 
As  there  seemed  to  be  no  one  else  in  the 
chubara,  the  carriage  drove  away,  pursued  by 
the  laughter  of  the  Beautiful  Young  Man  in 
the  Dust.  A  priest  was  caught  wandering  on 
the  road,  but  for  long,  he  denied  all  knowl- 
edge of  the  Sadhii.  In  vain  the  Englishman 
protested  that  he  came  as  a  humble  believer 
in  cold  tongue ;  that  he  carried  an  offering  of 
rupees  for  the  Sad/iu  ;  that  he  regarded  the 
Sadhu  as  one  of  the  leading  men  of  the 
century,  and  would  render  him  immortal  for 
at  least  twelve  hours.  The  priest  was  dumb. 
He  was  next  bribed — extortionately  bribed — 
and  said  that  the  Sadhu  was  at  the  Durbar 
Sahib  preaching.  To  the  Golden  Temple 
accordingly  the  carriage  went  and  found  the 
regular  array  of  ministers  and  the  eternal 
passage  of  Sikh  women  round  and  round  the 
Grunth ;  which  things  have  been  more  than 
once  described  in  this  paper.  But  there  was 
no  Sadlm.  An  old  Nihang,  gray-haired  and 
sceptical — for  he  had  lived  some  thirty  years 
in  a  church  as  it  were — was  sitting  on  the  steps 
of  the  tank,  dabbling  his  feet  in  the  water. 
"  O  Sahib,"  said  he,  blandly,  ''what  concern 
have  you  with  a  miraculous  Sadhu  2  You 
are  not  a  Poliswala.  And,  O  Sahib,  what 
concern  has  the  Sadhu  with  you  ? "  The 
Englishman  explained  with  heat  — for  fruitless 
drives  in  the  middle  of  an  October  day  are 
trying  to  the  temper — his  adventures  at  the 
various  chubaras,  not  omitting  the  incident  of 


276     The  Smith  Administration 

the  Beautiful  Young  j\Ian  in  tlie  Dust.  The 
Nihafig  smiled  shrewdly :  "  Without  doubt, 
Sahib,  these  men  have  told  you  lies.  They 
do  not  want  you  to  see  the  Sadhu  ;  and  the 
Sadhu  does  not  desire  to  see  you.  This  affair 
is  an  affair  for  the  common  people  and  not 
for  Sahibs.  The  honor  of  the  Gods  is  in- 
creased;  hwt you  do  not  worship  the  Gods." 
So  saying  he  gravely  began  to  undress  and 
waddled  into  the  water. 

Then  the  Englishman  perceived  that  he  had 
been  basely  betrayed  by  the  ^//<7r/-driver,  and 
all  the  priests  of  the  first  duibara,  and  the 
wandering  priest  near  the  second  chuhara  ; 
and  that  the  only  sensible  person  was  the 
Beautiful  Young  Man  in  the  Dust,  and  he  was 
mad. 

This  vexed  the  Englishman,  and  he  came 
away.  If  Sadhus  cut  out  their  tongues  and 
if  the  great  Gods  restore  them,  the  devotees 
might  at  least  have  the  decency  to  be  inter- 
viewed. 


The  Smith  Administration     277 


THE  EXPLANATION  OF  MIR  BAKSH. 

"  My  notion  was  that  you  had  been 
(Before  they  had  this  fit) 
An  obstacle  that  came  between 
Him  and  ourselves  and  it." 

"  That's  the  most  important  piece  of  evidence  we've 
heard  yet,"  said  the  king,  rubbing  his  hands.  "  So 
now  let  the  jury  ..." 

"  If  any  one  of  them  can  explain  it,' said  Alice,  "  I'll 
give  him  sixpence.  /  don't  believe  there's  an  atom  of 
meaning  in  it." 

— Alice  in  Wonderla7id. 

This,  Protector  of  the  Poor,  is  the  hissab 
(your  bill  of  house  expenses)  for  last  month 
and  a  little  bit  of  the  month  before, — eleven 
days, — and  this,  I  think,  is  what  it  will  be 
next  month.  Is  it  a  long  bill  in  five  sheets  ? 
Assuredly  yes,  Sahib.  Are  the  accounts  of 
so  honorable  a  house  as  the  house  of  the 
Sahib  to  be  kept  on  one  sheet  only  ?  This 
hissab  cost  one  rupee  to  write.  It  is  true  that 
the  Sahib  will  pay  the  one  rupee  ;  but  consider 
how  beautiful  and  how  true  is  the  account,  and 
how  clean  is  the  paper.  Ibrahim,  who  is  the 
very  best  petition-writer  in  all  the  bazaar,  drew 
it  up.  Ahoo !  Such  an  account  is  this  account ! 
And  I  am  to  explain  it  all  ?  Is  it  not  written 
there  in  the  red  ink,  and  the  black  ink,  and 
the  green  ink  ?  What  more  does  the  Heaven- 
born  want  "i     Ibrahim,  who  is  the  best  of  all 


278     The  Smith  Administration 

the  petition-writers  in  the  bazaar,  made  this 
hissah.  There  is  an  envelope  aiso.  Shall  I 
fetch  that  envelope  ?  Ibrahim  has  written 
your  name  outside  in  three  inks — a  very 
miirasla  is  this  envelope.  An  explanation  ? 
Ahoo  !  God  is  my  witness  that  it  is  as  plain 
as  the  sun  at  noon.  By  your  Honor's  permis- 
sion I  will  explain,  taking  the  accounts  in  my 
hand. 

Now  there  are  four  accounts — that  for  last 
month,  which  is  in  red  ;  that  for  the  month 
before,  which  is  in  black ;  that  for  the  month 
to  come,  which  is  in  green  ;  and  an  account 
of  private  expense,  and  dispens  which  is  in 
pencil.  Does  the  Presence  understand  that  ? 
Very  good  talk. 

There  was  the  bread,  and  the  milk,  and  the 
cow's  food,  and  both  horses,  and  the  saddle- 
soap  for  last  month,  which  is  in  green  ink. 
No,  red  ink — the  Presence  speaks  the  truth. 
It  was  red  ink,  and  it  was  for  last  month, 
and  that  was  fifty-seven  rupees  eight  annas ; 
but  there  was  the  cost  of  a  new  manger  for 
the  cow,  to  be  sunk  into  mud,  and  that  was 
eleven  annas.  But  I  did  not  put  that  into  the 
last  month's  account.  I  carried  that  over  to 
this  month — the  green  ink.  No  ?  There  is 
no  account  for  this  month  t  Your  Honor 
speaks  the  truth.  Those  eleven  annas  I  car- 
ried thus — in  my  head. 

The  Sahib  has  said  it  is  not  a  matter  of 
eleven  annas,  but  of  seventy-seven  rupees. 
That  is   quite  true ;  but,  O  Sahib,  if  I,  and 


The  Smith  Administration     279 

Ibrahim,  who  is  the  best  petition-writer  in  the 
bazaar,  do  not  attend  to  the  annas,  how  shall 
your  substance  increase  ?  So  the  food  and 
the  saddle-soap  for  the  cows  and  the  other 
things  were  fifty-seven  rupees  eight  annas,  and 
the  servants'  wages  were  a  hundred  and  ten 
— all  for  last  month.  And  now  I  must  think, 
for  this  is  a  large  account.  Oh  yes  !  It  was 
in  Jeth  that  I  spoke  to  the  Dhobi  about  the 
washing,  and  he  said,  "  my  bill  will  be  eleven 
rupees  two  pies."  It  is  written  there  in  the 
green  ink,  and  that,  in  addition  to  the  soap 
was  sixty-eight  rupees,  seven  annas,  two  pies. 
All  of  last  month.  And  the  hundred  and  ten 
rupees  for  the  servants'  wages  make  the  total 
to  one  hundred  and  seventy-eight  rupees, 
seven  annas,  two  pies,  as  Ibrahim,  who  is  the 
best  petition-writer  in  the  bazaar,  has  set 
down. 

But  I  said  that  all  things  would  only  be  one 
hundred  and  fifty  t  Yes.  That  was  at  first, 
Sahib,  before  I  was  well  aware  of  all 
things.  Later  on,  it  will  be  in  the  memory  of 
the  Presence  that  I  said  it  would  be  one  hun- 
dred and  ninety.  But  that  was  before  I  had 
spoken  to  the  Dhobi.  No,  it  was  before  I  had 
bought  the  trunk-straps  for  which  you  gave 
orders.  I  remember  that  I  said  it  would  be 
one  hundred  and  ninety.  Why  is  the  Sahib 
so  hot  ?  Is  not  the  account  long  enough  ?  I 
know  always  what  the  expense  of  the  house 
would  be.  Let  the  Presence  follow  my  finger. 
That  is  the  green  ink,  that  is  the  black,  here 


28o     The  Smith  Administration 

is  the  red,  and  there  is  the  pencil-mark  of  the 
private  expenses.  To  this  I  add  what  I  said 
six  weeks  ago  before  I  had  bought  the  trunk- 
straps  by  your  order.  And  so  that  is  2ijiftk 
account.  Very  good  talk  !  The  Presence 
has  seen  what  happened  last  month,  and  I 
will  now  show  the  month  before  last,  and  the 
month  that  is  to  come — together  in  little 
brackets  ;  the  one  bill  balancing  to  the  other 
like  swinging  scales. 

Thus  runs  the  account  of  the  month  before 
last : — A  box  of  matches  three  pies,  and  black 
thread  for  buttons  three  annas  (it  was  the  best 
black  thread),  khas-khas  for  the  tatties  twelve 
annas  ;  and  the  other  things  forty-one  rupees. 
To  which  that  of  the  month  to  come  had  an  an- 
swer in  respect  to  the  candles  for  the  dog-cart ; 
but  I  did  not  know  how  much  these  would  cost, 
and  I  have  written  one  rupee  two  annas,  for 
they  are  always  changing  their  prices  in  the 
bazaar.  And  the  oil  for  the  carriage  is  one 
rupee,  and  the  other  things  are  forty-one 
rupees,  and  that  is  for  the  next  month. 

An  explanation  ?  Still  an  explanation  ? 
Khuda-ka-kusm,  have  I  not  explained  and  has 
not  Ibrahim,  who  is  notoriously  the  best  peti- 
tion-writer in  the  bazaar,  put  it  down  in  the 
red  ink,  and  the  green  ink,  and  the  black ; 
and  is  there  not  the  private  dispens  account, 
withal,  showing  what  should  have  been  but 
which  fell  out  otherwise,  and  what  might  have 
been  but  could  not  ? 

Ai^  Sahib,  what  can  I  do  ?      It  is  perhaps 


The  Smith  Administration     281 

a  something  heavy  bill,  but  there  were  reasons  ; 
and  let  the  Presence  consider  that  the  Dhobi 
lived  at  the  ghat  over  against  the  river,  and  I 
had  to  go  there — two  kos,  upon  my  faith ! — 
to  get  his  bill ;  and,  moreover,  the  horses  were 
shod  at  the  hospital,  and  that  was  a  kos  away, 
and  the  Hospital  Babu  was  late  in  rendering 
his  accounts.  Does  the  Sahib  say  that  I 
should  know  how  the  accounts  will  fall — not 
only  for  the  month  before  last,  but  for  this 
month  as  well  ?  I  do — I  did — I  will  do  !  Is 
it  my  fault  that  more  rupees  have  gone  than 
I  knew  ?  The  Sahib  laughs  !  Forty  years  I 
have  been  ?i  khansajtiah  to  the  Sahib-log — from 
masalchi  to  mate,  and  head  khansamah  have 
I  risen  {smites  hi7nself  on  the  b?'east),  and 
never  have  I  been  laughed  at  before.  Why 
does  the  Sahib  laugh  ?  By  the  blessed 
Imai7is^  my  uncle  was  cook  to  Jan  Larens, 
and  I  am  a  priest  at  the  Musjid  ;  and  I 
am  laughed  at  ?  Sahib,  seeing  that  there 
were  so  many  bills  to  come  in,  and  that  the 
Dhobi  lived  at  the  ghat  as  I  have  said,  and 
the  Horse  hospital  was  a  kos  away,  and  God 
only  knows  where  the  sweeper  lived,  but  his 
account  came  late  also,  it  is  not  strange  that 
I  should  be  a  little  stupid  as  to  my  accounts, 
whereof  there  are  so  many.  For  the  Dhobi 
was  at  the  ghat,  etc.  Forty  years  have  I  been 
a  khatisaffiah,  and  there  is  no  khansamah  who 
could  have  kept  his  accounts  so  well.  Only 
by  my  great  and  singular  regard  for  the  wel- 
fare of  the  Presence  does  it  come  about  that 


282     The  Smith  Administration 

they  are  not  a  hundred  rupees  wrong.  For 
the  Dhobi  was  at  the  ghat^  etc.  And  I  will 
not  be  laughed  at !  The  accounts  are  beauti- 
ful accounts,   and    only  I    could    have    kept 

them. 

*  *  =H=  *  # 

Sahib — Sahib  !  Gariparwar  !  I  have  been 
to  Ibrahim,  who  is  the  best  petition-writer  in 
the  bazaar,  and  he  has  written  all  that  I  have 
said — all  that  the  Sahib  could  not  understand 
— upon  pink  paper  from  Sialkot.  So  now 
there  are  the  five  accounts  and  the  explana- 
tion ;  and  for  the  writing  of  all  six  you,  O 
Sahib,  must  pay !  But  for  my  honor's  sake 
do  not  laugh  at  me  any  more. 


The  Smith  Administration     283 


A  LETTER  FROM  GOLAM  SINGH. 

From  Golani  Singh,  Mistri,  Landifi,  Belait, 
to  Ra7n  Singh,  Mistri^  son  of  Jeewtin  Singh, 
iff  the  town  of  Rajah  fung,  in  the  tehsil  of 
Kasur,  in  the  district  of  Lahore,  in  the  Prov- 
ifice  of  the  Punjab. 

Wah  Gooroojee  ki  futteh. 

Call  together  now  our  friends  and  brothers, 
and  our  children,  and  the  Lambardar,  to  the 
big  square  by  the  well.  Say  that  I,  Golam 
Singh,  have  written  you  a  letter  across  the 
Black  Water,  and  let  the  town  hear  of  the 
wonders  which  I  have  seen  in  Belait.  Rutton 
Singh,  the  hunnia,  who  has  been  to  Delhi,  will 
tell  you,  my  brother,  that  I  am  a  Har ;  but  I 
have  witnesses  of  our  faith,  besides  the  others, 
who  will  attest  when  we  return  what  I  have 
written. 

I  have  now  been  many  days  in  Belait,  in 
this  big  city.  Though  I  were  to  write  till  my 
hand  fell  from  my  wrist,  I  could  not  state  its 
bigness.  I  myself  know  that,  to  see  one  an- 
other, the  Sahib-log,  of  whom  there  are  crores 
of  crores,  use  the  railway  dak,  which  is  laid 
not  above  the  ground  as  is  the  Sirkar's  rail- 
way in  our  own  country,  but  underneath  it, 
below  the  houses.     I  have  gone  down  myself 


284     The  Smith  Administration 

into  this  rail  together  with  the  other  witnesses. 
The  air  is  very  bad  in  those  places,  and  this  is 
why  the  Sahib-log  have  become  white. 

There  are  more  people  here  than  I  have 
ever  seen.  Ten  times  as  many  as  there  are 
at  Delhi,  and  they  are  all  Sahibs  who  do  us 
great  honor.  Many  hundred  Sahibs  have 
been  in  our  country,  and  they  all  speak  to  us, 
asking  if  we  are  pleased. 

In  this  city  the  streets  run  for  many  miles 
in  a  straight  line,  and  are  so  broad  that  four 
bullock-carts  of  four  bullocks  might  stand  side 
by  side.  At  night  they  are  lit  with  English 
lamps,  which  need  no  oil,  but  are  fed  by  wind 
which  burns.  I  and  the  others  have  seen  this. 
By  day  sometimes  the  sun  does  not  shine,  and 
the  city  becomes  black.  Then  these  lamps 
are  lit  all  day  and  men  go  to  work. 

The  bazaars  are  three  times  as  large  as  our 
bazaars,  and  the  shopkeepers,  who  are  ail 
Sahibs,  sit  inside  where  they  cannot  be  seen, 
but  their  name  is  written  outside.  There  are 
no  bimnia's  shops,  and  all  the  prices  are 
written.  If  the  price  is  high,  it  cannot  be 
lowered  ;  nor  will  the  shopkeeper  bargain  at 
all.  This  is  very  strange.  But  I  have 
witnesses. 

One  shop  I  have  seen  was  twice  as  large  as 
Rajah  Jung.  It  held  hundreds  of  shopkeeper- 
sahibs  and  memsahibs,  and  thousands  who 
come  to  buy.  The  Sahib-log  speak  one  talk 
when  they  purchase  their  bazaar,  and  they 
make  no  noise. 


The  Smith  Administration     285 

There  are  no  ekkas  here,  but  there  are 
yellow  and  green  ticca-gharies  bigger  than 
Rutton  Singh's  house,  holding  half  a  hundred 
people.  The  horses  here  are  as  big  as  ele- 
phants. I  have  seen  no  ponies,  and  there 
are  no  buffaloes. 

It  is  not  true  that  the  Sahibs  use  the  belaitee 
2mnkah  (the  thermantidote)  like  as  you  and  I 
made  for  the  Dipty  Sahib  two  years  ago.  The 
air  is  cold,  and  there  are  neither  coolies  nor 
verandas.  Nor  do  the  Sahibs  drink  belaitee 
pajiee  (soda-water)  when  they  are  thirsty. 
They  drink  water — very  clean  and  good — as 
we  do. 

In  this  city  there  are  plains  so  vast  that 
they  appear  like  jungle  ;  but  when  you  have 
crossed  them  you  come  again  to  lakhs  of 
houses,  and  there  are  houses  on  all  sides. 
None  of  the  houses  are  of  mud  or  wood,  but 
all  are  in  brick  or  stone.  Some  have  carved 
doors  in  stone,  but  the  carving  is  very  bad. 
Even  the  door  of  Rutton  Singh's  house  is 
better  carved  ;  but  Rutton  Singh's  house  could 
be  put  into  any  fore-court  of  these  belaitee 
houses.     They  are  as  big  as  mountains. 

No  one  sleeps  outside  his  house  or  in  the 
road.  This  is  thought  shameless  ;  but  it  is 
very  strange  to  see.  There  are  no  flat  roofs 
to  the  houses.  They  are  all  pointed ;  I  have 
seen  this  and  so  have  the  others. 

In  this  city  there  are  so  many  carriages  and 
horses  in  the  street  that  a  man,  to  cross  over, 
must   call  a  ^oXxQ^-wallah^  who  puts  up   his 


286     The  Smith  Administration 

hand,  and  the  carriages  stop.  I  swear  to  you 
by  our  father  that  on  account  of  me  Golam 
Singh  mistri,  all  the  carriages  of  many  streets 
have  been  stopped  that  I  might  cross  like  a 
Padshah.     Let  Rutton  Singh  know  this. 

In  this  city  for  four  annas  you  may  send 
news  faster  than  the  wind  over  four  hundred 
kos.  There  are  witnesses  ;  and  I  have  a 
paper  of  the  Government  showing  that  this  is 
true. 

In  this  city  our  honor  is  very  great,  and 
we  have  learned  to  shekand  like  the  Sahib- 
logue.  All  the  memsahibs,  who  are  very 
beautiful,  look  at  us,  but  we  do  not  under- 
stand their  talk.  These  memsahibs  are  like  the 
mefnsahibs  in  our  country. 

In  this  city  there  are  a  hundred  dances 
every  night.  The  houses  where  they  iiaiitch 
hold  many  thousand  people,  and  the  nautch  is 
so  wonderful  that  I  cannot  describe  it.  The 
Sahibs  are  a  wonderful  people.  They  can 
make  a  sea  upon  dry  land,  and  then  a  fire, 
and  then  a  big  fort  with  soldiers — all  in  half 
an  hour  while  you  look.  The  other  men  will 
say  this  too,  for  they  also  saw  what  I  saw  at 
one  of  the  nautches. 

Rutton  Singh's  son,  who  has  become  a 
pleader,  has  said  that  the  Sahibs  are  only  men 
like  us  black  men.  This  is  a  lie,  for  they  know 
more  than  we  know.  I  will  tell.  When  we 
people  left  Bombay  for  Belait,  we  came  upon 
the  Black  Water,  which  you  cannot  understand. 
For  five  days  we  saw  only  the  water,  as  flat 


The  Smith  Administration     287 

as  a  planed  board  with  no  marks  on  it.  Yet 
the  Captain  Sahib  in  charge  of  the  fire-boat 
^aid,  from  the  first,  "In  five  days  we  shall 
reach  a  little  town,  and  in  four  more  a  big 
canal."  These  things  happened  as  he  had 
said,  though  there  was  nothing  to  point  the 
road,  and  the  little  town  was  no  bigger  than 
the  town  of  Lod.  We  came  there  by  night, 
and  yet  the  Captain  Sahib  knew  !  How,  then, 
can  Rutton  Singh's  son  say  such  lies  ?  I 
have  seen  this  city  in  which  are  crores  of  crores 
of  people.  There  is  no  end  to  its  houses  and 
its  shops,  for  I  have  never  yet  seen  the  open 
jungle.  There  is  nothing  hidden  from  these 
people.  They  can  turn  the  night  into  day  [I 
have  seen  it],  and  they  never  rest  from  work- 
ing. It  is  true  that  they  do  not  understand 
carpenter's  work,  but  all  other  things  they 
understand,  as  I  and  the  people  with  me  have 
seen.      They  are  no  common  people. 

Bid  our  father's  widow  see  to  my  house 
and  little  Golam  Singh's  mother  ;  for  I  return 
in  some  months,  and  I  have  bought  many 
wonderful  things  in  this  country,  the  like  of 
which  you  have  never  seen.  But  your  minds 
are  ignorant,  and  you  will  say  I  am  a  liar.  I 
shall,  therefore,  bring  my  witnesses  to  humble 
Rutton  Singh,  bumiia,  who  went  to  Delhi, 
and  who  is  an  owl  and  the  son  of  an  owl. 

Ap-ki-das,  Golam  Singh. 


288     The  Smith  Administration 


THE  WRITING  OF  YAKUB  KHAN 

From  Yakub  Khan,  Kuki  Khel.of  Lala  China, 
Malik ^  in  the  Englishman'' s  City  of  Calcutta 
with  Vahbtahn  Sahib,  to  Katal  Khan,  Kicki 
Khel,  of  Lala  China,  which  is  i?i  the  Khai- 
bar.  This  letter  to  go  by  the  Sirkar's  mail 
to  Piihbi,  and  thetice  Mahbub  AH,  the  writer^ 
takes  delivery  and,  if  God  pleases,  gives  to  my 
son. 

Also,  for  my  heart  is  clean,  this  writiiig  g'oes  on 
to  Sultan  Khan,  on  the  upper  hill  over 
against  Kuka  Ghoz,  which  is  in  Bara, 
through  the  country  of  the  Zuka  Khel.  Mah- 
bub AH  goes  through  if  God  pleases. 

To  My  Son. — Know  this.  I  have  come 
with  the  others  and  Vahbtahn  (Warburton) 
Sahib,  as  was  agreed,  down  to  the  river,  and 
the  rail-dak  does  7tot  stop  at  Attock.  Thus 
the  Mullah  of  Tordurra  lied.  Remember  this 
when  next  he  comes  for  food.  The  rail-dak 
goes  on  for  many  days.  The  others  who  came 
v;ith  me  are  witnesses  to  this.  Fifteenth 
times,  for  there  was  but  little  to  do  in  the  dak, 
I  made  all  the  prayers  from  the  7iiyah  to  the 
munajat,  and  yet  the  journey  was  not  ended. 
And  at  the  places  where  we  stopped  there 
were  often  to  be  seen  the  fighting-men  of  the 
English,  such  as  those  we  killed,  when  certain 


The  Smith  Administration     289 

of  our  men  went  with  the  Bonerwals  in  the 
matter  of  Umbeyla,  whose  guns  I  have  in  my 
house.  Everywhere  there  were  fighting-men  ; 
but  it  may  be  that  the  English  were  afraid  of 
us,  and  so  drew  together  all  their  troops  upon 
the  line  of  the  rail-dak  and  the  fire-carriage. 
Vahbtahn  Sahib  is  a  very  clever  man,  and  he 
may  have  given  the  order.  None  the  less, 
there  must  be  many  troops  in  this  country  ; 
more  than  all  the  Strength  of  the  Afridis.  But 
Yar  Khan  says  that  all  the  land,  which  runs 
to  the  east  and  to  the  west  many  days'  journey 
in  the  rail-dak,  is  also  full  of  fighting-men, 
and  big  guns  by  the  score.  Our  Mullahs 
gave  us  no  news  of  this  when  they  said  that, 
in  the  matter  of  six  years  gone,  there  were  no 
more  English  in  the  land,  all  having  been 
sent  to  Afghanistan,  and  that  the  country  was 
rising  in  fire  behind  them.  Tell  the  Mullah 
of  Tordurra  the  words  of  Yar  Khan.  He  has 
lied  in  respect  to  the  rail-dak,  and  it  may  be 
that  he  will  now  speak  the  truth  regarding 
what  his  son  saw  when  he  went  to  Delhi  with 
the  horses.  I  have  asked  many  men  for  news 
of  the  strength  of  the  fighting-men  in  this 
country,  and  all  say  that  it  is  very  great. 
Howbeit,  Vahbtahn  Sahib  is  a  clever  man 
and  may  have  told  them  to  speak  thus,  as  I 
told  the  women  of  Sikanderkhelogarhi  to 
speak  when  we  were  pressed  by  the  Sangu 
Khel,  in  that  night  when  you,  my  son,  took 
Torukh  Khan's  head,  and  I  saw  that  I  had 
bred  a  man. 


290     The  Smith  Administration 

If  there  be  as  many  men  throughout  the 
place  as  I  have  seen  and  the  people  say,  the 
mouth  of  the  Khaibar  is  shut,  and  it  were 
better  to  give  no  heed  to  our  Mullahs.  But 
read  further  and  see  for  what  reasons  I,  who 
am  a  Malak  of  the  Kuki  Khel,  say  this.  I 
have  come  through  many  cities — all  larger 
than  Cabul.  Rawal  Pindi,  which  is  far 
beyond  the  Attock,  whence  came  all  the  Eng- 
lisli  who  fought  us  in  the  bi^iness  of  six  years 
gone.  That  is  a  great  city,  filled  with  fightiftg- 
men — four  thousand  of  both  kinds,  and  guns. 
Lahore  is  also  a  great  city,  with  another  four 
thousand  troops,  and  that  is  one  night  by  the 
rail-dak  from  Rawal  Pindi.  Amritsar  has  a 
strong  fort,  but  I  do  not  know  how  many  men 
are  there.  The  words  of  the  people  w^io  go 
down  with  the  grapes  and  the  almonds  in  the 
winter  are  true,  and  our  Mullahs  have  lied  to 
us.  JuUundur  is  also  a  place  of  troops,  and 
there  is  a  fort  at  Phillour,  and  there  are  many 
thousand  men  at  Umballa,  which  is  one  night, 
going  very  swiftly  in  the  rail-dak,  from  Lahore. 
And  at  Meerut,  which  is  half  a  day  from  Um- 
balla, there  are  more  men  and  horses  ;  and 
at  Delhi  there  are  more  also,  in  a  very  strong 
fort.  Our  people  go  only  as  far  south  as 
Delhi ;  but  beyond  Delhi  there  are  no  more 
strong  Punjabi  people — but  only  a  mean  race 
"without  strength.  The  country  is  very  rich 
here,  flat,  with  cattle  and  crops.  We,  of  the 
villages  of  the  Khaibar  alone,  could  loot  these 
people ;  but  there  are    more  fighting-men   at 


The  Smith  Administration     291 

Agra,  and  at  Cawnpore,  and  at  Allahabad, 
and  many  other  places,  whose  names  do  not 
stay  with  me.  Thus,  my  son,  by  day  and  by 
night,  always  going  swiftly  in  the  rail-dak 
we  came  down  to  this  very  big  city  of  Cal- 
cutta. 

My  mouth  dripped  when  I  saw  the  place 
that  they  call  Bengal — so  rich  it  was;  and 
my  heart  was  troubled  when  I  saw  how  many 
of  the  English  were!?  there.  The  land  is  very 
strongly  held,  and  there  are  a  multitude  of 
English  and  half-English  in  the  place.  They 
give  us  great  honor,  but  all  men  regard  us  as 
though  we  were  strange  beasts,  and  not  fight- 
ing-men with  hundreds  of  guns.  If  Yar  Khan 
has  spoken  truth  and  the  land  throughout  is 
as  I  have  seen,  and  no  show  has  been  made 
to  fill  us  with  fear,  I,  Yakub  Khan,  tell  you 
my  son,  and  you,  O  Sultan  Khan !  that  the 
English  do  well  to  thus  despise  us  ;  for  on 
the  Oath  of  a  Pathan,  we  are  only  beasts  in 
their  sight.  It  may  be  that  Vahbtahn  Sahib 
has  told  them  all  to  look  at  us  in  this  manner 
— for,  though  we  receive  great  honor,  no  man 
shows  fear,  and  busies  himself  with  his  work 
when  we  have  passed  by.  Even  that  very 
terrible  man,  the  Governor  of  Cabul,  would 
be  as  no  one  in  this  great  City  of  Calcutta. 
Were  I  to  write  what  I  have  seen,  all  our 
people  would  say  that  I  was  mad  and  a  liar. 
But  this  I  write  privately,  that  only  you,  my 
son,  and  Sultan  Khan  may  see ;  for  ye  know 
that,  in  respect  to  my  own  blood,  I  am  no  liar. 


292     The  Smith  Administration 

There  are  lights  without  oil  or  wood  burning 
brightly  in  this  city ;  and  on  the  water  of  the 
river  lie  boats  which  go  by  fire,  as  the  rail-dak 
goes,  carrying  men  and  fighting-men  by  two 
and  three  thousand.  God  knows  whence  they 
come !  They  travel  by  water,  and  therefore 
there  must  be  yet  another  country  to  the  east- 
ward full  of  fighting-men.  I  cannot  make 
clear  how  these  things  are.  Every  day  more 
boats  come.  I  do  not  think  that  this  is  ar- 
ranged by  Vahbtahn  Sahib  ;  for  no  man  in 
those  boats  takes  any  notice  of  us  ;  and  we 
feel,  going  to  and  from  every  place,  that  we 
are  children.  When  that  Kafiir  came  to  us, 
three  years  agone,  is  it  in  thy  memory  how, 
before  we  shot  him,  we  looked  on  him  for  a 
show,  and  the  children  came  out  and  laughed  .? 
In  this  place  no  children  laugh  at  us  ;  but 
none  the  less  do  we  feel  that  we  are  all  like 
that  man  from  Kafirstan. 

In  the  matter  of  our  safe-conduct,  be  at 
ease.  We  are  with  Vahbtahn  Sahib,  and  his 
word  is  true.  Moreover,  as  we  said  in  the 
Jirgah,  we  have  been  brought  down  to  see 
the  richness  of  the  country,  and  for  that  rea- 
son they  will  do  us  no  harm.  I  cannot  tell 
why  they,  being  so  strong, — if  these  things  be 
not  all  arranged  by  Vahbtahn  Sahib, — took 
any  trouble  for  us.  Yar  Khan,  whose  heart 
has  become  so  soft  within  him  in  three  days, 
says  that  the  louse  does  not  kill  the  Afridi, 
but  none  the  less  the  Afridi  takes  off  his  up- 
per-coat for  the  itching.     This  is  a  bitter  say- 


The  Smith  Administration     293 

ing,  and  I,  O  my  son,  and  O  my  friend  Sultan 
Khan,  am  hard  upon  believing  it. 

I  put  this  charge  upon  you.  Whatever  the 
Mullah  of  Tordurra  may  say,  both  respecting 
the  matter  that  we  know  of,  which  it  is  not 
prudent  to  write,  and  respecting  the  going-out 
in  spring  against  the  Sangu  Khel,  do  you,  my 
son,  and  you.  Sultan  Khan,  keep  the  men  of 
the  Khaibar  villages,  and  the  men  of  the  Up- 
per Bara,  still,  till  I  return  and  can  speak  with 
my  mouth.  The  blood-feuds  are  between 
man  and  man,  and  these  must  go  forward  by 
custom;  but  let  there  be  no  more  than  single 
shots  fired.  We  will  speak  together,  and  ye 
will  discover  that  my  words  are  good.  I 
would  give  hope  if  I  could,  but  I  cannot  give 
hope.  Yar  Khan  says  that  it  were  well  to 
keep  to  the  blood-feuds  only ;  and  he  hath 
said  openly  among  us,  in  the  smoking-time, 
that  he  has  a  fear  of  the  English,  greater  than 
any  fear  of  the  curses  of  our  Mullahs.  Ye 
know  that  I  am  a  man  unafraid.  Ye  knew 
when  I  cut  down  the  Malik  of  the  Sipah  Khel, 
when  he  came  into  Kadam,  that  I  was  a  man 
unafraid.  But  this  is  no  matter  of  one  man's 
life,  or  the  lives  of  a  hundred,  or  a  thousand  ; 
and  albeit  I  cursed  Yar  Khan  with  the  others, 
yet  in  my  heart  I  am  afraid  even  as  he  is.  If 
these  English,  and  God  know^s  where  their 
homes  lie,  for  they  come  from  a  strange  place, 
we  do  not  know  how  strong  in  fighting-men, 
— if,  O  my  son,  and  friend  of  my  heart  Sultan 
Khan,  these  devils  can  thus  fill  the  land  over 


294     The  Smith  Administration 

four  days'  journey  by  this  very  swift  rail-dak 
from  Peshawar,  and  can  draw  white  light,  as 
bright  as  the  sun,  from  iron  poles,  and  can 
send  fire-boats  full  of  men  f7'om  the  east,  and 
moreover,  as  I  have  seen,  can  make  new  rupees 
as  easily  as  women  make  cow-dung  cakes, — 
what  can  the  Afridis  do  ? 

The  Mullah  of  Tordurra  said  that  they  came 
from  the  west,  and  that  their  rail-dak  stopped 
at  Attock,  and  that  there  were  none  of  them 
except  those  who  came  into  our  country  in  the 
great  fight.  In  all  three  things  he  has  lied. 
Give  no  heed  to  him.  I  myself  will  shoot  him 
when  I  return.  If  he  be  a  Saint,  there  will 
be  miracles  over  his  tomb,  which  I  will  build. 
If  he  be  no  Saint,  there  is  but  one  Mullah  the 
less.  It  were  better  that  he  should  die  than 
take  the  Khaibar  villages  into  a  new  block- 
ade ;  as  did  the  Mullah  of  Kardara,  when  we 
were  brought  to  shame  by  Jan  Larens  and  I 
was  a  young  man. 

The  black  men  in  this  place  are  dogs  and 
children.  To  such  an  one  I  spoke  yesterday, 
saying,  "  Where  is  Vahbtahn  Sahib  "i "  and  he 
answered  nothing,  but  laughed.  I  took  him 
by  the  throat  and  shook  him,  only  a  little  and 
very  gently,  for  I  did  not  wish  to  bring  trouble 
on  Vahbtahn  Sahib,  and  he  has  said  that  our 
customs  are  not  the  customs  of  this  country. 
This  black  man  wept,  and  said  that  I  had 
killed  him,  but  truly  I  had  only  shaken  him 
to  and  fro.  He  was  a  fat  man,  with  white 
stockings,  dressed  in  woman's  fashion,  speak- 


The  Smith  Administration     295 

ing  English,  but  acting  without  courtesy  either 
to  the  Sahibs  or  to  us.  Thus  are  all  the  black 
people  in  the  city  of  Calcutta.  But  for  these 
English,  we  who  are  here  now  could  loot  the 
city,  and  portion  out  the  women,  who  are 
fair. 

I  have  bought  an  English  rifle  for  you,  my 
son,  better  than  the  one  which  Shere  Khan 
stole  from  Cherat  last  summer,  throwing  to 
two  thousand  paces  ;  and  for  Sultan  Khan 
an  English  revolver,  as  he  asked.  Of  the 
wonders  of  this  great  city  I  will  speak  when 
we  meet,  for  I  cannot  write  them. 

When  I  came  from  Lala  China  the  tale  of 
blood  between  our  house  and  the  house  of 
Zarmat  Shah  lacked  one  on  our  side.  I  have 
been  gone  many  days,  but  I  have  no  news 
from  you  that  it  is  made  even.  If  ye  have  not 
yet  killed  the  boy  who  had  the  feud  laid  upon 
him  when  I  went,  do  nothing  but  guard  your 
lives  till  ye  get  the  new  rifle.  With  a  steady 
rest  it  will  throw  across  the  valley  into  Zar- 
mat Shah's  field,  and  so  ye  can  kill  the 
women  at  evening. 

Now  I  will  cease,  for  I  am  tired  of  this  writ- 
ing. Make  Mahbub  Ali  welcome,  and  bid 
him  stay  till  ye  have  written  an  answer  to  this, 
telling  me  whether  all  be  well  in  my  house. 
My  blood  is  not  cold  that  I  charge  you  once 
again  to  give  no  ear  to  the  Mullahs,  who  have 
lied,  as  I  will  show  ;  and,  above  all  else,  to 
keep  the  villages  still  till  I  return.  Nor  am  I  a 
clucking  hen  of  a  Khuttick  if  I  write  last,  that 


296     The  Smith  Administration 

these   English   are  devils,  against  whom  only 
the  Will  of  God  can  help  us. 

"  And  why  should  we  beat  our  heads  against  a  rock, 
for  we  only  spill  our  brains : 

And  when  we  have  the  Valley  to  content  us,  why 
should  we  go  out  against  the  Mountain  ? 

A  strong  man,  saith  Kabir,  is  strong  only  till  he 
meet  with  a  stronger." 


The  Smith  Administration     297 


A  KING'S  ASHES. 

1888  :  On  Wednesday  morning  last,  the 
ashes  of  the  late  ruler  of  Gwalior  were  con- 
signed to  the  Ganges  without  the  walls  of 
Allahabad  Fort.  Scindia  died  in  June  of  last 
year,  and,  shortly  after  the  cremation,  the 
main  portion  of  the  ashes  were  taken  to  the 
water.  Yesterday's  function,  the  disposal  of 
what  remained  (it  is  impossible  not  to  be  hor- 
rible in  dealing  with  such  a  subject),  was 
comparatively  of  an  unimportant  nature,  but 
sufficiently  grim  to  witness. 

Beyond  the  melon-beds  and  <r//^//^r  villages 
that  stand  upon  the  spit  of  sun-baked  mud 
and  sand  at  the  confluence  of  the  Jumna  and 
the  Ganges,  lies  a  flag  bedizened  home  of 
fakirs,  gurus,  gosains,  sajtyasis,  and  the  like. 
A  stone's  throw  from  this  place  boils  and 
eddies  the  line  of  demarcation  between  the 
pure  green  waters  of  the  Jumna  and  the  tur- 
bid current  of  the  Ganges, and  here  they  brought 
the  ashes  of  Scindia.  With  these  came  minor 
functionaries  of  the  Gwalior  State,  six  Brah- 
mins of  the  Court,  and  nine  of  Scindia's 
relatives.  In  his  lifetime,  the  Maharaja  had 
a  deep  and  rooted  distrust  of  his  own  family 
and  clan,  and  no  Scindia  was  ever  allowed 
office  about  him.  Indeed,  so  great  was  his 
aversion  that  he  would  not  even  permit  them 


298     The  Smith  Administration 

to  die  in  the  Luskar,  or  City  of  Gwalior. 
They  must  needs  go  out  when  their  last  hour 
came,  and  die  in  a  ne'ighhonng  Jag'/iir  village 
which  belonged  to  Sir  Michael  Filose,  one  of 
that  Italian  family  which  has  served  the  State 
so  long  and  faithfully.  When  such  an  one  had 
died,  Scindia,  by  his  own  command,  was  not 
informed  of  the  event  till  the  prescribed  days 
of  mourning  had  elapsed.  Then  notice  was 
given  to  him  by  the  placing  of  his  bed  on  the 
ground, — a  sign  of  mourning, — and  he  would 
ask,  not  too  tenderly,  "  Which  Scindia  is 
dead  ? " 

Considering  this  unaraiable  treatment,  the 
wonder  was  that  so  many  as  nine  of  his  own 
kin  could  be  found  to  attend  the  last  rites  on 
that  sun-dried  mud-bank.  There  was,  or 
seemed  to  be,  no  attempt  at  ceremony,  and, 
naturally  enough,  no  pretense  at  grief;  nor 
was  there  any  gathering  of  native  notables. 
The  common  crowd  and  the  multitude  of 
priests  had  the  spectacle  to  themselves,  if  we 
except  a  few  artillery  men  from  the  Fort,  who 
had  strolled  down  to  see  what  was  happening 
to  "  one  of  them  (qualified)  kings."  By  ten 
o'clock,  a  tawdry  silken  litter  bearing  the 
the  ashes  and  accompanied  by  the  mourners, 
had  reached  the  water's  edge,  where  wooden 
cots  had  been  run  out  into  the  stream,  and 
where  the  water  deepened  boats  had  been 
employed  to  carry  the  press  of  sight-seers. 
Underfoot,  the  w^et  ground  was  trodden  by 
hundreds  of  feet  into  a  slimy  pulp  of  mud  and 


The  Smith  Administration     299 

stale  flowers  of  sacrifice  ;  and  on  this  com- 
post slipped  and  blundered  a  fine  white  horse, 
whose  fittings  were  heavy  with  bosses  of  new 
silver.  He  and  a  big  elephant  adorned  with 
a  necklace  of  silver  plaques,  was  a  gift  to  the 
priests  who  in  cash  and  dinners  would  profit 
by  the  day's  work  to  the  extent  of  eight  or  ten 
thousand  rupees. 

Overhead  a  hundred  fakirs^  flags,  bearing 
devices  of  gods,  beasts, and  the  trident  of  Shiva, 
fluttered  in  the  air ;  while  all  around,  like 
vultures  drawn  by  carrion,  crowded  the  priests. 
There  were  burly,  bull-necked,  freshly  oiled 
rufiians,  sleek  of  paunch  and  jowl,  clothed  in 
pure  white  linen  ;  mad  wandering  mendicants 
carrying  the  peacock's  feather,  the  begging 
bowl,  and  the  patched  cloak ;  salmon-robed 
sanyasis — from  up  country, — and  evil-eyed 
gosains  from  the  south.  They  crowded  upon 
the  wooden  bedsteads,  piled  themselves  upon 
the  boats,  and  jostled  into  the  first  places  in 
the  crowd  in  the  mud,  and  all  their  eyes  were 
turned  toward  two  nearly  naked  men  who 
seemed  to  be  kneading  some  Horror  in  their 
hands  and  dropping  it  into  the  water.  The 
closely  packed  boats  rocked  gently,  the  crowd 
babbled  and  buzzed,  and  uncouth  music 
wailed  and  shrieked,  while  from  behind  the 
sullen,  squat  bulk  of  Allahabad  Fort,  the 
booming  of  minute-guns  announced  that  the 
Imperial  Government  was  paying  honor  to 
the  memory  of  his  Highness  Maharaja  Jyaji 
Rao  Scindia,  G.  C.  B.,  G.  C.  S.  I.,  once  owner 


300     The  Smith  Administration 

of  twenty  thousand  square  miles  of  land, 
nearly  three  million  people,  and  treasure 
untold,  if  all  tales  be  true.  Not  fifty  yards 
up-stream,  a  swollen  dead  goat  was  bobbing 
up  and  down  in  the  water  in  a  ghastly  parody 
on  kidlike  skittishness,  and  green  filth  was 
cast  ashore  by  every  little  wave. 

Was  there  anything  more  to  see  ?  The 
white  horse  refused  to  be  led  into  the  water 
and  splashed  all  the  bystanders  with  dirt,  and 
the  elephant's  weight  broke  up  the  sand  it 
was  standing  on  and  turned  it  to  a  quag.  That 
much  was  visible,  but  little  else  ;  for  the 
clamoring  priests  forbade  any  English  foot 
to  come  too  near,  perhaps  for  fear  that 
their  gains  might  be  lessened.  Where  the 
press  parted,  it  was  possible  to  catch  a  glimpse 
of  this  ghoulish  kneading  by  the  naked  men  in 
the  boat,  and  to  hear  the  words  of  a  chanted 
prayer.     But  that  was  all. 


The  Smith  Administration     301 


THE  BRIDE'S  PROGRESS. 

"  And  school  foundations  in  the  act 
Of  holiday,  three  files  compact, 
Shall  learn  to  view  thee  as  a  fact. 
Connected  with  that  zealous  tract 
'  Rome,  Babylon,  and  Nineveh.' " 

—  The  Burden  of  Nineveh, 

It  would  have  been  presumption  and  weari- 
ness deliberately  to  have  described  Benares. 
No  man,  except  he  who  writes  a  guide-book, 
"  does  "  the  Strand  or  Westminster  Abbey. 
The  foreigner — French  or  American — tells 
London  what  to  think  of  herself,  as  the  visitor 
tells  the  Anglo-Indian  what  to  think  of  India. 
Our  neighbor  over  the  way  always  knows  so 
much  more  about  us  than  we  ourselves.  The 
Bride  interpreted  Benares  as  fresh  youth  and 
radiant  beauty  can  interpret  a  city  gray  and 
worn  with  years.  Providence  had  been  very 
good  to  her,  and  she  repaid  Providence  by 
dressing  herself  to  the  best  advantage — which, 
if  the  French  speak  truth,  is  all  that  a  fair 
woman  can  do  toward  religion.  Generations, 
of  untroubled  ease  and  well-being  must  have 
builded  the  dainty  figure  and  rare  face,  and 
the  untamable  arrogance  of  wealth  looked  out 
of  the  calm  eyes.  ''India,"  said  The  Bride, 
philosophically,  "  is  an  incident   only  in  our 


302     The  Smith  Administration 

trip.  We  are  going  on  to  Australia  and  China, 
and  then  Home  by  San  Francisco  and  New 
York.  We  shall  be  at  Home  again  before 
the  season  is  quite  ended."  And  she 
patted  her  bracelets,  smiling  softly  to  herself 
over  some  thought  that  had  little  enough  to 
do  with  Benares  or  India — whichever  was  the 
*'  incident."  She  went  into  the  city  of  Benares. 
Benares  of  the  Buddhists  and  the  Hindus — 
of  Durga  of  the  Thousand  Names — of  two 
thousand  Temples,  and  tv/ice  two  thousand 
stenches.  Her  high  heels  rang  delicately  upon 
thes  tone  pavement  of  the  gullies,  and  her 
brow  unmarked  as  that  of  a  little  child, 
was  troubled  by  the  stenches.  "  Why  does 
Benares  smell  so  ? "  demanded  the  Bride, 
pathetically.  ^^  Micst  we  do  it,  if  it  smells  like 
this  ?  "  The  Bridegroom  was  high-colored, 
fair-whiskered,  and  insistent,  as  an  English- 
man should  be.  "  Of  course  we  must.  It 
would  never  do  to  go  home  without  having 
seen  Benares.  Where  is  a  guide  ? "  The 
streets  were  alive  with  them,  and  the  couple 
chose  him  who  spoke  English  most  fluently. 
"Would  you  like  to  see  where  the  Hindus 
are  burnt"  said  he.  They  would,  though  The 
Bride  shuddered  as  she  spoke,  for  she  feared 
that  it  would  be  very  horrible.  A  ray  of 
gracious  sunlight  touched  her  hair  as  she 
turned,  walking  cautiously  in  the  middle  of 
the  narrow  way,  into  the  maze  of  the  byways 
of  Benares. 

The  sunlight  ceased  after  a  few  paces,  and 


The  Smith  Administration     303 

the  horrors  of  the  Holy  City  gathered  round 
her.  Neglected  rainbow-hued  sewage  sprawled 
across  the  path,  and  a  bull,  rotten  with  some 
hideous  disease  that  distorted  his  head  out  of 
all  bestial  likeness,  pushed  through  the  filth. 
The  Bride  picked  her  way  carefully,  giving  the 
bull  the  wall.  A  lean  dog,  dying  of  mange, 
growled  and  yelped  among  her  starveling 
puppies  on  a  threshold  that  led  into  the  dark- 
ness of  some  unclean  temple.  The  Bride 
stooped  and  patted  the  beast  on  the  head. 
"  I  think  she's  something  like  Bessie^^^  said 
The  Bride,  and  once  again  her  thoughts  wan- 
dered far  beyond  Benares.  The  lanes  grew 
narrower  and  the  symbols  of  a  brutal  cult 
more  numerous.  Hanuman,  red,  shameless, 
and  smeared  with  oil,  leaped  and  leered  upon 
the  walls  above  stolid,  black,  stone  bulls, 
knee-deep  in  yellow  flowers.  The  bells 
clamored  from  unseen  temples,  and  half- 
naked  men  with  evil  eyes  rushed  out  of  dark 
places  and  besought  her  for  money,  saying  that 
they  were  priests — padris,  like  the  padris  of 
her  own  faith.  One  young  man — who  knows 
in  what  Mission  school  he  had  picked  up  his 
speech? — told  her  this  in  English,  and  The 
Bride  laughed  merrily,  shaking  her  head. 
"  These  men  speak  English,"  she  called  back 
to  her  husband.     "  Isn't  it  funny  !  " 

But  the  mirth  went  out  of  her  face  when  a 
turn  in  the  lane  brought  her  suddenly  above 
the  burning-^//^?/,  where  a  man  was  piling  logs 
on  some  Thing  that  lay   wrapped    in    white 


304     The  Smith  Administration 

cloth,  near  the  water  of  the  Ganges.  "  We 
can't  see  well  from  this  place,"  said  the  Bride- 
groom, stolidly.  "  Let  us  get  a  little  closer." 
They  moved  forward  through  deep  gray  dust — 
white  sand  of  the  river  and  black  dust  of 
man  blended — till  they  commanded  a  full 
view  of  the  steeply  sloping  bank  and  the 
Thing  under  the  logs.  A  man  was  laboriously 
starting  a  fire  at  the  river  end  of  the  pile  ; 
stepping  wide  now  and  again  to  avoid  the  hot 
embers  of  a  dying  blaze  actually  on  the  edge 
of  the  water.  The  Bride's  face  blanched,  and 
she  looked  appealingly  to  her  husband,  but  he 
had  only  eyes  for  the  newly  lit  flame.  Slowly, 
very  slowly,  a  white  dog  crept  on  his  belly 
down  the  bank,  toward  a  heap  of  ashes  among 
which  the  water  was  hissing.  A  plunge, 
followed  by  a  yelp  of  pain,  told  that  he  had 
reached  food,  and  that  the  food  was  too  hot 
for  him.  With  a  deftness  that  marked  long 
training,  he  raked  the  capture  from  the  ashes 
on  to  the  dust  and  slobbered,  nosing  it  ten- 
tatively. As  it  cooled,  he  settled,  with  noises 
of  animal  delight,  to  his  meal  and  worried  and 
growled  and  tore.  *'  Will !  "  said  The  Bride, 
faintly.  The  Bridegroom  was  watching  the 
newly  lit  pyre  and  could  not  attend.  A  log 
slipped  sideways,  and  through  the  chink 
showed  the  face  of  the  man  below,  smiling 
the  dull  thick  smile  of  death,  which  is  such, 
a  smile  as  a  very  drunken  man  wears  when  he 
has  found  in  his  wide-swimming  brain  a  joke 
of  exquisite   savor.     The  dead  man  grinned 


The  Smith  Administration     305 

up  to  the  sun  and  the  fair  face  of  The  Bride. 
The  flames  sputtered  and  caught  and  spread. 
A  man  waded  out  knee-deep  into  the  water, 
which  was  covered  with  greasy  black  embers 
and  an  oily  scum.  He  chased  the  bobbing 
driftwood  with  a  basket,  that  it  might  be  saved 
for  another  occasion,  and  threw  each  take  on 
a  mound  of  such  economies  or  on  the  back  of 
the  unheeding  dog  deep  in  the  enjoyment  of 
his  warm  dinner. 

Slowly,  very  slowly,  as  the  flames  crackled, 
the  Smihng  Dead  Man  lifted  one  knee  through 
the  light  logs.  He  had  just  been  smitten 
with  the  idea  of  rising  from  his  last  couch  and 
confounding  the  spectators.  It  was  easy  to 
see  he  was  tasting  the  notion  of  this  novel, 
this  stupendous  practical  joke,  and  would 
presently,  always  smiling,  rise  up,  and  up,  and 
up,  and  .  .  . 

The  fire-shriveled  knee  gave  way,  and  with 
its  collapse  little  flames  ran  forward  and 
whistled  and  whispered  and  fluttered  from 
heel  to  head.  ^'  Come  away.  Will,"  said  The 
Bride,  "  come  away  !  It  is  too  horrible.  I'm 
sorry  that  I  saw  it."  They  left  together,  she 
with  her  arm  in  her  husband's  for  a  sign  to 
all  the  world  that,  though  Death  be  inevitable 
and  awful,  Love  is  still  the  greater,  and  in  its 
sweet  selfishness  can  set  at  naught  even  the 
horrors  of  a  burning-^/^<7/. 

"  I  never  thought  what  it  meant  before," 
said  The  Bride,  releasing  her  husband's  arm 
as  she  recovered  herself  ;  "  I  see  now.''  "  See 
20 


3o6     The  Smith  Administration 

what?"  "Don't  you  know?"  said  The 
Bride,  "  what  Edwin  Arnold  says  :  — 

'  For  all  the  tears  of  all  the  eyes 
Have  room  in  Gunga's  bed, 
And  all  the  sorrow  is  gone  to-morrow 
When  the  white  flames  have  fed.' 

I  see  now.  I  think  it  is  very,  very  horrible." 
Then  to  the  guide,  suddenly,  with  a  deep  com- 
passion, "And  will  you  be — will  you  be  burnt 
in  that  way,  too?"  "Yes,  your  Ladyship," 
said  the  guide,  cheerfully,  "  we  are  all  burnt 
that  way."  "  Poor  wretch  ! "  said  The  Bride 
to  herself.  "  Now  show  us  some  more  tem- 
ples." A  second  time  they  dived  into  Benares 
City,  but  it  was  at  least  five  long  minutes  be- 
fore The  Bride  recovered  those  buoyant 
spirits  which  were  hers  by  right  of  Youth  and 
Love  and  Happiness.  A  very  pale  and  sober 
little  face  peered  into  the  filth  of  the  temple 
of  the  Cow  where  theodorof  Holiness  and  Hu- 
manity are  highest.  Fearful  and  wonderful 
old  women,  crippled  in  hands  and  feet,  body 
and  back,  crawled  round  her ;  some  even 
touching  the  hem  of  her  dress.  And  at  this 
she  shuddered,  for  the  hands  were  very  foul. 
The  walls  dripped  filth,  the  pavement  sweated 
filth,  and  the  contagion  of  uncleanliness 
walked  among  the  worshippers.  There  might 
have  been  beauty  in  the  Temple  of  the  Cow; 
there  certainly  was  horror  enough  and  to 
spare ;  but  The  Bride  was  conscious  only  of 
the  filth  of  the  place.  She  turned  to  the 
wisest  and  best  man  in  the  world,  asking  in- 


The  Smith  Administration     307 

dig-nantly,  "Why  don't  these  horrid  people 
clean  the  place  out  ?  "  "  I  don't  know,"  said 
The  Bridegroom  ;  "  I  suppose  their  religion 
forbids  it."  Once  more  they  set  out  on  their 
journey  through  the  city  of  monstrous  creeds 
— she  in  front,  the  pure  white  hem  of  her 
petticoat  raised  indignantly  clear  of  the  mire, 
and  her  eyes  full  of  alarm  and  watchfulness. 
Closed  galleries  crossed  the  narrow  way,  and 
the  light  of  day  fainted  and  grew  sick  ere  it 
could  climb  down  into  the  abominations  of 
the  gullies.  A  litter  of  gorgeous  red  and  gold 
barred  the  passage  to  the  Golden  Temple. 
''  It  is  the  Maharani  of  Hazaribah,"  said  the 
guide,  ''she  coming  to  pray  for  a  child." 
"  Ah  !  "  said  The  Bride,  and  turning  quickly  to 
her  husband,  said,  ''I  wish  mother  were  with 
us."  The  Bridegroom  made  no  answer.  Per- 
haps he  was  beginning  to  repent  of  dragging 
a  young  English  girl  through  the  iniquities  of 
Benares.  He  announced  his  intention  of  re- 
turning to  his  hotel,  and  The  Bride  dutifully 
followed.  At  every  turn  lewd  gods  grinned 
and  mouthed  at  her,  the  still  air  was  clogged 
with  thick  odors  and  the  reek  of  rotten  mari- 
gold flowers,  and  disease  stood  blind  and 
naked  before  the  sun.  "  Let  us  get  away 
quickly,"  said  the  Bride  ;  and  they  escaped  to 
the  main  street,  having  honestly  accomplished 
nearly  two-thirds  of  what  was  written  in  the 
little  red  guide-book.  An  instinct  inherited 
from  a  century  of  cleanly  English  housewives 
made  The  Bride  pause  before  getting  into  the 


3o8     The  Smith  Administration 

carriage,  and,  addressing  the  seething  crowd 
generally,  murmur,  "  Oh  !  you  horrid  people  ! 
Shouldn't  I  like  to  wash  you." 

Yet  Benares — which  name  must  certainly 
be  derived  from  be,  without,  and  7iares,  nos- 
trils— is  not  entirely  a  Sacred  Midden.  Very 
early  in  the  morning,  almost  before  the  light 
had  given  promise  of  the  day,  a  boat  put  out 
from  a  ghat  and  rowed  up-stream  till  it  stayed 
in  front  of  the  ruined  magnificence  of  Scindia's 
Ghat — a  range  of  ruined  wall  and  drunken 
bastion.  The  Bride  and  Bridegroom  had 
risen  early  to  catch  their  last  glimpse  of  the 
city.  There  was  no  one  abroad  at  that  hour, 
and,  except  from  three  or  four  stone-laden 
boats  rolling  down  from  Mirzapur,  they  were 
alone  upon  the  river.  In  the  silence  a  voice 
thundered  far  above  their  heads:  ''/  bear 
tvitness  that  there  is  no  God  but  God.^^  It  was 
the  mullah,  proclaiming  the  Oneness  of  God 
in  the  city  of  the  Million  Manifestations. 
The  call  rang  across  the  sleeping  city  and  far 
over  the  river,  and  be  sure  that  the  mullah 
abated  nothing  of  the  defiance  of  his  cry  for 
that  he  looked  down  upon  a  sea  of  temples 
and  smelt  the  incense  of  a  hundred  Hindu 
shrines.  The  Bride  could  make  neither  head 
nor  tail  of  the  business.  *'  What  is  he  mak- 
ing that  noise  for.  Will  1 "  she  asked.  "  Wor- 
shiping Vishnu,"  was  the  ready  reply;  for 
at  the  outset  of  his  venture  into  matrimony  a 
young  husband  is  at  the  least  infallible.  The 
Bride  snuggled  down  under  her  wraps,  keep- 


The  Smith  Administration     309 

ing  her  delicate,  chill-pinked  little  nose  to- 
ward the  city.  Day  broke  over  Benares,  and 
The  Bride  stood  up  and  applauded  with  both 
her  hands.  It  was  finer,  she  said,  than  any 
transformation  scene  ;  and  so  in  her  gratitude 
she  applauded  the  earth,  the  sun,  and  the 
everlasting  sky.  The  river  turned  to  a  silver 
flood  and  the  ruled  lines  of  the  ghats  to  red 
gold.  '^  How  can  I  describe  this  to  mother  ? " 
she  cried,  as  the  wonder  grew,  and  timeless 
Benares  roused  to  a  fresh  day.  The  Bride 
nestled  down  in  the  boat  and  gazed  round- 
eyed.  As  water  spurts  through  a  leaky  dam, 
as  ants  pour  out  from  the  invaded  nest,  so  the 
people  of  Benares  poured  down  the  ghats  to 
the  river.  Wherever  The  Bride's  eye  rested, 
it  saw  men  and  women  stepping  downwards, 
always  downwards,  by  rotten  wall,  worn  step, 
tufted  bastion,  riven-water  gate,  and  stark, 
bare,  dusty  bank,  to  the  water.  The  hundred 
priests  drifted  down  to  their  stations  under 
the  large  mat-umbrellas  that  all  pictures  of 
Benares  represent  so  faithfully.  The  Bride's 
face  lighted  with  joy.  She  had  found  a  simile. 
"  Will !  Do  you  recollect  that  pantomime  we 
went  to  ages  and  ages  ago — before  we  were 
engaged — at  Brighton  ?  Doesn't  it  remind 
you  of  the  scene  of  the  Fairy  Mushrooms — 
just  before  they  all  got  up  and  danced,  you 
know  ?  Isn't  it  splendid  ?  "  She  leaned  for- 
ward, her  chin  in  her  hand,  and  watched  long 
and  intently ;  and  Nature,  who  is  without 
doubt  a  Frenchwoman,  so  keen  is  her   love 


310     The  Smith  Administration 

for  effect,  arranged  that  the  shell-like  pink  of 
The  Bride's  cheek  should  be  turned  against  a 
dull-red  house,  in  the  windows  of  which  sat 
women  in  blood-red  clothes,  letting  down 
crimson  turban-cloths  for  the  morning  breeze 
to  riot  with.  From  the  burning-^//^^/  rose 
lazily  a  welt  of  thick  blue  smoke,  and  an  eddy 
of  the  air  blew  a  wreath  across  the  river. 
The  Bride  coughed.  "  Will,"  she  said,  "  prom- 
ise me  when  I  die  you  won't  have  me  cre- 
mated— if  cremation  is  the  fashion  then, " 
And  "  Will  "  promised  lightly,  as  a  man  prom- 
ises who  is  looking  for  long  years. 

The  life  of  the  city  went  forward.  The 
Bride  heard,  though  she  did  not  understand, 
the  marriage-song,  and  the  chant  of  prayers, 
and  the  wail  of  the  mourners.  She  looked 
long  and  steadfastly  at  the  beating  heart  of 
Benares  and  at  the  Dead  for  whom  no  day 
had  dawned.  The  place  was  hers  to  watch 
and  enjoy  if  she  pleased.  Her  enjoyment 
was  tempered  with  some  thought  of  regret ; 
for  her  eyebrows  contracted  and  she  thought. 
Then  the  trouble  was  apparent.  *'  Will !  " 
she  said  softly,  "  they  don't  seem  to  think 
much  of  us,  do  they  ?  "  Did  she  expect,  then, 
that  the  whole  city  would  make  obeisance  to 
young  Love,  robed  and  crowned  in  a  gray 
tweed  traveling  dress  and  velvet  toque  ? 

The  boat  drifted  down-stream,  and  an  hour 
or  so  later  the  Dufferin  Bridge  bore  a^vay  The 
Bride  and  Bridegroom  on  their  travels,  in 
which  India  was  to  be  "only  an  incident." 


The  Smith  Administration     311 


"  A  DISTRICT  AT  PLAY." 

1887. 

Four  or  five  years  ago,  when  the  Egerton 
"Woolen  Mills  were  young,  and  Dhariwal,  on 
the  Amritsar  and  Pathankot  Line,  was  just 
beginning  to  grow,  there  was  decreed  an  an- 
nual holiday  for  all  the  workers  in  the  Mill. 
In  time  the  little  gathering  increased  from  a 
purely  private  tainasha  to  a  fair,  and  now  all 
the  Gurdaspur  District  goes  a-merrymaking 
with  the  Millhands.  Here  the  history 
begins. 

On  the  evening  of  Friday,  the  20th  of  Au- 
gust, an  Outsider  went  down  to  Dhariwal  to 
see  that  mela.  He  had  understood  that  it 
was  an  affair  which  concerned  the  People 
only — that  no  one  in  authority  had  to  keep 
order — that  there  was  no  police,  and  that 
everybody  did  what  was  right  in  their  own 
eyes ;  none  going  wrong.  This  was  refresh- 
ing and  pastoral,  even  as  Dhariwal,  which  is 
on  the  banks  of  the  Canal,  is  refreshing  and 
pastoral.  The  Egerton  Mills  owns  a  baby 
railway — twenty-inch  gauge — which  joins  on 
to  the  big  line  at  Dhariwal  station,  so  that  the 
visitor  steps  from  one  carriage  into  another, 
and  journeys  in  state. 

Dusk  was  closing  in  as  the  locomotive — it 


312     The  Smith  Administration 

wore  a  cloth  round  its  loins  and  a  string  of 
beads  round  its  neck — ran  the  tiny  carriage 
into  the  Mill-yard,  and  the  Outsider  heard 
the  low  grumble  of  turbines,  and  caught  a 
whiff  of  hot  wool  from  a  shed.  (The  Mills 
were  running  and  would  run  till  eleven  o'clock 
that  night,  because,  though  holidays  were 
necessary,  orders  were  many  and  urgent.) 
Both  smell  and  sound  suggested  the  North 
country  at  once, — bleak,  paved  streets  of 
Skipton  and  Keighley  ;  chimneys  of  Beverley 
and  Burnley  ;  gray  stone  houses  within  stone 
walls,  and  the  moors  looking  down  on  all.  It 
was  perfectly  natural,  therefore,  to  find  that 
the  Englishmen  who  directed  the  departments 
of  the  establishment  were  from  the  North  also  ; 
and  delightful  as  it  was  natural  to  hear  again 
the  slow,  staid  Yorkshire  tongue.  Here  the 
illusion  stopped  ;  for,  in  place  of  the  merry 
rattle  of  the  clogs  as  the  mill-hands  left  their 
work,  there  was  only  the  soft  patter  of  naked 
feet  on  bare  ground,  and  for  purple,  smoke- 
girt  moors,  the  far-off  line  of  the  Dalhousie 
Hills. 

Presently,  the  electric  light  began  its  work, 
and  a  tour  over  the  Mills  was  undertaken. 
The  machinery,  the  thousands  of  spindles, 
and  the  roaring  power-looms  were  familiar 
as  the  faces  of  old  friends  ;  but  the  workers 
were  strange  indeed.  Small  brown  boys, 
naked  except  for  a  loin-cloth,  "  pieced  "  the 
yarn  from  the  spindles  under  the  strong  blaze 
of  the  electric  light,  and  semi-nude  men  toiled 


The  Smith  Administration     313 

at  the  carding-machine  between  the  whirring 
belts.  It  was  a  shock  and  a  realization — ■ 
for  boys  and  men  seemed  to  know  their  work 
in  almost  Yorkshire  fashion. 

But  the  amusement  and  not  the  labor  of 
the  Mill  was  what  the  Outsider  had  come  to 
see — the  amusement  which  required  no 
policemen  and  no  appearance  of  control  from 
without. 

Early  on  Saturday  morning  all  Dhariwal 
gathered  itself  on  the  banks  of  the  Canal — 
a  magnificent  stretch  of  water — to  watch  the 
swimming-race,  a  short  half-mile  down-stream. 
Forty-three  bronzes  had  arranged  themselves 
in  picturesque  attitudes  on  the  girders  of  the 
Railway  bridge,  and  the  crowd  chaffed  them 
according  to  their  deserts.  The  race  was  won, 
from  start  to  finish, by  a  tailor  with  a  wonderful 
side-stroke  and  a  cataract  in  one  eye.  The 
advantage  counterbalanced  the  defect,  for  he 
steered  his  mid-stream  course  as  straight  as  a 
fish,  was  never  headed,  and  won,  sorely  pump- 
ed, in  seven  minutes  and  a  few  seconds.  The 
crowd  ran  along  the  bank  and  yelled  instruc- 
tions to  its  favorites  at  the  top  of  its  voice. 
Up  to  this  time  not  more  than  five  hundred 
folk  had  put  in  an  appearance,  so  it  was  im- 
possible to   judge  of    their  behavior  in  bulk. 

After  the  swimming  came  the  greased  pole, 
an  entertainment  the  pains  whereof  are  re- 
served for  light-limbed  boys,  and  the  prizes, 
in  the  shape  of  gay  cloths  and  rupees,  are 
appropriated  by  heavy  fathers.     The   crowd 


314     The  Smith  Administration 

had  disposed  itself  in  and  about  the  shadow 
of  the  trees,  where  one  might  circulate  com- 
fortably and  see  the  local  notabilities. 

They  are  decidedly  Republicans  in  Dha- 
riwal,  being  innocent  oi  Darbaties^  C.  I.  E. 's, 
fat  old  gentlemen  in  flowered  brocade, 
dressing-gowns,  and  cattle  of  that  kind 
Every  one  seemed  much  on  a  level,  with  the 
exception  of  some  famous  wrestlers,  who 
stood  aside  with  an  air  of  conscious  worth, 
and  grinned  cavernously  when  spoken  to. 
They  were  the  elite  of  the  assembly,  and  were 
to  prove  their  claims  to  greatness  on  the 
morrow.  Until  the  Outsider  realized  how 
great  an  interest  the  Gurdaspur  District  took 
in  wrestling,  he  was  rather  at  a  loss  to  under- 
stand why  men  walked  round  and  round  each 
other  warily,  like  dogs  on  the  eve  of  a  quarrel. 

The  greasy  pole  competition  finished,  there 
was  a  general  move  in  the  direction  of  the 
main  road,  and  couples  were  chosen  from 
among  the  Mill-hands  for  a  three-legged  race. 
Here  the  Outsider  joyfully  anticipated  diffi- 
culty in  keeping  the  course  clear  without  a  line 
of  policemen  ;  for  all  crowds,  unless  duly 
marshalled,  will  edge  forward  to  see  what  is 
going  on. 

But  the  democracy  of  Dhariwal  got  into 
their  places  as  they  were  told,  and  kept  them, 
with  such  slight  assistance  as  three  or  four 
self-constituted  office-bearers  gave.  Only 
once,  when  the  honor  of  two  villages  and 
the  Mill  was  at  stake  in  the  Tug-of~War,  were 


The  Smith  Administration     315 

they  unable  to  hold  in,  and  the  Englishmen 
had  to  push  them  back.  But  this  was  ex- 
ceptional, and  only  evoked  laughter,  for  in  the 
front  rank  of  all — yellow-trousered  and  blue- 
coated — was  a  real  live  policeman,  who  was 
shouldered  about  as  impartially  as  the  rest. 
More  impartially,  in  fact  ;  for  to  keep  a  police- 
man in  order  is  a  seldom-given  joy,  and 
should  be  made  much  of. 

Then  back  to  the  Mill  bungalow  for 
breakfast,  where  there  was  a  gathering  of  five 
or  six  Englishmen, — Canal  Officers  and  En- 
gineers.    Here  follows  a  digression. 

After  long  residence  in  places  where  folk 
discuss  such  intangible  things  as  Lines,  Poli- 
cies, Schemes,  Measures,  and  the  like,  in  an 
abstract  and  bloodless  sort  of  way,  it  was  a 
revelation  to  listen  to  men  who  talk  of  Things 
and  the  People — crops  and  plows  and 
water-supplies,  and  the  best  means  of  using 
all  three  for  the  benefit  of  a  district.  They 
spoke  masterfully,  these  Englishmen,  as 
owners  of  a  country  might  speak,  and  it  was 
not  at  first  that  one  realized  how  every  one  of 
the  concerns  they  touched  upon  with  the  air 
of  proprietorship  were  matters  which  had 
not  the  faintest  bearing  on  their  pay  or  pros- 
pects, but  concerned  the  better  tillage  or 
husbandry  of  the  fields  around.  It  was  good 
to  sit  idly  in  the  garden,  by  the  guava-trees, 
and  to  hear  these  stories  of  work  undertaken 
and  carried  out  in  the  interests  of,  and,  best 
of  all,  recognized  by,  Nubbi  Buksh — the  man 


3i6     The  Smith  Administration 

whose  mind  moves  so  slowly  and  whose  life 
is  so  bounded.  They  had  no  particular  love 
for  the  land,  and  most  assuredly  no  hope  of 
gain  from  it.  Yet  they  spoke  as  though 
their  hopes  of  salvation  were  centered  on  driv- 
ing into  a  Zemindar's  head  the  expediency  of 
cutting  his  wheat  a  little  earlier  than  his  wont ; 
or  on  proving  to  some  authority  or  other  that 
the  Canal-rate  in  such  and  such  a  district  was 
too  high.  Every  one  knows  that  India  is  a 
country  filled  with  Englishmen,  who  live  down 
in  the  plains  and  do  things  other  than  writing 
futile  reports,  but  it  is  wholesome  to  meet 
them  in  the  flesh. 

To  return,  however,  to  the  ''  Tug-of-War  " 
and  the  sad  story  of  the  ten  men  of  Futteh 
Nangal.  Now  Futteh  Nangal  is  a  village  of 
proud  people,  mostly  sepoys,  full  in  the 
stomach  ;  and  Kung  is  another  village  filled 
with  Mill-hands  of  long  standing,  who  have 
grown  lusty  on  good  pay.  When  the  tug 
began,  quoth  the  proud  men  of  Futteh  Nangal : 
"Let  all  the  other  teams  compete.  We  will 
stand  aside  and  pull  the  winners."  This 
hauteur  was  not  allowed,  and  in  the  end  it 
happened  that  the  men  of  Kung  thoroughly 
defeated  the  sepoys  of  Futteh  Nangal  amid  a 
scene  of  the  wildest  excitement,  and  secured 
for  themselves  the  prize, — an  American 
plow, — leaving  the  men  of  Futteh  Nangal 
only  a  new  and  improved  rice-husker. 

Other  sports  followed,  and  the  crowd  grew 
denser  and   denser   throughout   the  day,   till 


The  Smith  Administration     317 

evening,  when  every  one  assembled  once  more 
by  the  banks  of  the  Canal  to  see  the  fire- 
works, which  were  impressive.  Great  boxes 
of  rockets  and  shells,  and  wheels  and  Roman- 
candles,  had  come  up  from  Calcutta,  and  the 
intelligent  despatchers  had  packed  the  whole 
in  straw,  which  absorbs  damp.  This  didn't 
spoil  the  shells  and  rockets — quite  the  con- 
trary. It  added  a  pleasing  uncertainty  to 
their  flight  and  converted  the  shells  into  very 
fair  imitations  of  the  real  article.  The  crowd 
dodged  and  ducked,  and  yelled  and  laughed 
and  chaffed,  at  each  illumination,  and  did  their 
best  to  fall  into  the  Canal.  It  was  a  jovial 
scuffle,  and  ended,  when  the  last  shell  had 
burst  gloriously  on  the  water,  in  a  general  ad- 
journment to  the  main  street  of  Dhariwal 
village,  where  there  was  provided  a  magic- 
lantern. 

At  first  sight  it  does  not  seem  likely  that  a 
purely  rustic  audience  would  take  any  deep 
interest  in  magic-lanterns ;  but  they  did,  and 
showed  a  most  unexpected  desire  to  know 
what  the  pictures  meant.  It  was  an  out-of- 
door  performance,  the  sheet  being  stretched 
on  the  side  of  a  house  and  the  people  sitting 
below  in  silence.  Then  the  native  doctor — 
who  was  popular  with  the  Mill-hands — went 
up  on  to  the  roof  and  began  a  running  commen- 
tary on  the  pictures  as  they  appeared  ;  and  his 
imagination  was  as  fluent  as  his  Punjabi.  The 
crowd  grew  irreverent  and  jested  with  him, 
until  they   recognized  a  portrait  of  one  of  the 


3i8     The  Smith  Administration 

native  overseers  and  a  khitjjiutgar.  Then  they 
turned  upon  the  two  who  had  achieved  fame 
thus  strangely,  and  commented  on  their 
beauty.  Lastly,  there  flashed  upon  the  sheet 
a  portrait  of  Her  Majesty  the  Empress.  The 
native  doctor  rose  to  the  occasion,  and,  after 
enumerating  a  few  of  our  Great  Lady's  virtues, 
called  upon  the  crowd  to  salaam  2ind  cheer; 
both  of  which  they  did  noisily,  and  even  more 
noisily,  when  they  were  introduced  to  the 
Prince  of  Wales.  One  might  moralize  to  any 
extent  on  the  effect  produced  by  this  little 
demonstration  in  an  out-of-the-way  corner  of 
Her  Majesty's  Empire. 

Next  morning,  being  Sunday  and  cool,  was 
given  up  to  wrestling.  By  this  time  the  whole 
of  the  Gurdaspur  District  was  represented,  and 
the  crowd  was  some  five  thousand  strong. 
Eventually,  after  much  shouting,  one  hundred 
and  seventy  men  from  all  the  villages,  near 
and  far,  were  set  down  to  wrestle,  if  time 
allowed.  And  in  truth  the  first  prize — a  plow 
for  the  man  who  showed  most  "  form  " — was 
worth  wrestling  for.  Armed  with  a  note-book 
and  a  pencil,  the  Manager,  by  virtue  of  consid- 
erable experience  in  the  craft,  picked  out  the 
men  who  were  to  contend  together ;  and  these, 
fearing  defeat,  did  in  almost  every  instance 
explain  how  their  antagonist  was  too  much 
for  them.  The  people  sat  down  in  companies 
upon  the  grass,  village  by  village,  flanking  a 
huge  square  marked  on  the  ground.  Other  re- 
straint there  was  none.    Within  the  square,  was 


The  Smith  Administration     319 

the  roped  ring  for  the  wrestlers,  and  close  to 
the  ring  a  tent  for  the  dozen  or  so  of  English- 
men present.  Be  it  noted  that  anybody  might 
come  into  this  tent  who  did  not  interfere  with 
a  view  of  the  wrestling.  There  were  no  lean 
brown  men,  clasping  their  noses  with  their 
hands  and  following  in  the  wake  of  the  Man- 
ager Sahib.  Still  less  were  there  the  fat  men 
in  gorgeous  raiment  before  noted — the  men 
who  shake  hands  "  Europe  fashion  "  and  de- 
mand the  favor  of  your  interest  for  their 
uncle's  son's  wife's  cousin. 

It  was  a  sternly  democratic  community, 
bent  on  enjoying  itself,  and,  unlike  all  other 
democracies,  knowing  how  to  secure  what  it 
wanted. 

The  wrestlers  were  called  out  by  name, 
stripped,  and  set  to  amid  applausive  shouts 
from  their  respective  villages  and  trainers. 
There  were  many  men  of  mark  engaged, — 
huge  men  who  stripped  magnificently  ;  light, 
lean  men,  who  wriggled  like  eels,  and  got  the 
mastery  by  force  of  cunning  ;  men  deep  in  the 
breast  as  bulls,  lean  in  the  flank  as  greyhounds, 
and  lithe  as  otters ;  men  who  wrestled  with 
amicable  grins  ;  men  who  lost  their  tempers 
and  smote  each  other  with  the  clenched  hand 
on  the  face,  and  so  were  turned  out  of  the 
ring  amid  a  storm  of  derision  from  all  four 
points  of  the  compass  ;  men  as  handsome  as 
statues  of  the  Greek  gods,  and  foul-visaged 
men  whose  noses  were  very  properly  rubbed 
in  the  dirt. 


320     The  Smith  Administration 

As  he  watched,  the  Outsider  was  filled  with 
a  great  contempt  and  pity  for  all  artists  at 
Home,  because  he  felt  sure  that  they  had 
never  seen  the  human  form  aright.  One 
wrestler  caught  another  by  the  waist,  and 
lifting  him  breast-high,  attempted  to  throw 
him  bodily,  the  other  stiffening  himself  like  a 
bar  as  he  was  heaved  up.  The  coup  failed, 
and  for  half  a  minute  the  two  stayed  motion- 
less as  stone,  till  the  lighter  weight  wrenched 
himself  out  of  the  other's  arms,  and  the  two 
came  down, — flashing  through  a  dozen  per- 
fect poses  as  they  fell, — till  they  subsided 
once  more  into  ignoble  scuffle  in  the  dust. 
The  story  of  that  day's  strife  would  be  a  long 
one  were  it  written  at  length, — how  one  man 
did  brutally  twist  the  knee  of  another  (which 
is  allowed  by  wrestling  law,  though  generally 
considered  mean)  for  a  good  ten  minutes,  and 
how  the  twistee  groaned,  but  held  out,  and 
eventually  threw  the  twister,  and  stalked 
round  the  square  to  receive  the  congratula- 
tions of  his  friends  ;  how  the  winner  in  each 
bout  danced  joyfully  over  to  the  tent  to  have 
his  name  recorded  (there  were  between  three 
and  four  hundred  rupees  given  in  prizes  in 
the  wrestling  matches  alone  ;  )  how  the  Mill- 
hands  applauded  their  men  ;  and  how  Sid- 
dum,  Risada,  Kalair,  Narote,  Sohul,  Maha, 
and  Doolanager,  villages  of  repute,  yelled 
in  reply  ;  how  the  Sujhanpur  men  took  many 
prizes  for  the  honor  of  the  Sugar  mills  there ; 
how  the  event  of  the  day  was   a  tussle  be- 


The  Smith  Administration     321 

tween  a  boy — a  mere  child — and  a  young 
man  ;  how  the  youngster  nearly  defeated  his 
opponent  amid  riotous  yells,  but  broke  down 
finally  through  sheer  exhaustion ;  how  his 
trainer  ran  forward  to  give  him  a  pill  of  dark 
and  mysterious  composition,  but  was  ordered 
away  under  the  rules  of  the  game.  Lastly, 
how  a  haughty  and  most  wonderfully  ugly 
weaver  of  the  Mill  was  thrown  by  an  outsider, 
and  how  the  Manager  chuckled,  saying  that  a 
defeat  at  wrestling  would  keep  the  weaver 
quiet  and  humble  for  some  time,  which  was 
desirable.  All  these  things  would  demand 
much  space  to  describe  and  must  go  unre- 
corded. 

They  wrestled — couple  by  couple — for  six 
good  hours  by  the  clock,  and  a  Kashmiri 
weaver  (why  are  Kashmiris  so  objectionable 
all  the  Province  over  ? )  later  on  in  the  after- 
noon, was  moved  to  make  himself  a  nuisance 
to  his  neighbors.  Then  the  four  self-appoint- 
ed office-bearers  moved  in  his  direction  ;  but 
the  crowd  had  already  dealt  with  him,  and  the 
Dormouse  in  Alice  in  WonderlaJid  was  never 
so  suppressed  as  that  weaver.  Which  proves 
that  a  democracy  can  keep  order  among 
themselves  when  they  like. 

The  Outsider  departed,  leaving  the  wrestlers 
still  at  work,  and  the  last  he  heard  as  he  dived 
through  that  most  affable,  grinning  assembly, 
was  the  shout  of  one  of  the  Mill-hands,  who 
had  thrown  his  man  and  ran  to  the  tent  to  get 
his  name  entered.  Freely  translated  the 
21 


322     The  Smith  Administration 

words  were  exactly  what  Gareth,  the  Scullion- 
Knight,  said  to  King  Arthur  : — 

"  Yea  mighty  through  thy  meat  and  drinks  am  I, 
And  I  can  topple  down  a  hundred  such." 

Then  back  to  the  Schemes  and  Lines  and 
Policies  and  Projects  filled  with  admiration 
for  the  Englishmen  who  live  in  patriarchal 
fashion  among  the  People,  respecting  and 
respected,  knowing  their  ways  and  their  wants  ; 
believing  (soundest  of  all  beliefs)  that  "  too 
much  progress  is  bad,"  and  compassing  with 
their  heads  and  hands  real,  concrete,  and  un- 
deniable Things.  As  distinguished  from  the 
speech  which  dies  and  the  paper-work  which 
perishes. 


The  Smith  Administration     323 


WHAT  IT  COMES  TO. 

"  Men  instinctively  act  under  the  excitement  of  the 
battle-field,  only  as  they  have  been  taught  to  act  in 
peace."  .  .  .  These  words  deserve  to  be  engraved  in 
letters  of  gold  over  the  gates  of  every  barrack  and 
drill-ground  in  the  country.  The  drill  of  the  soldier  now 
begins  and  ends  in  the  company  .  .  .  Each  Company 
will  stand  for  itself  on  parade,  practically  as  indepen- 
dent as  a  battery  of  artillery  in  a  brigade,  etc.,  etc. 
Vide  Comments  on  New  German  Drill  Regulation,  in 
Pioneer. 

Scene.  Canteen  of  the  Tyneside  Tailtwisters 
in  full  blast.  Chumer  of  B  Co7npany  a?tnexes 
the  Pioneer  on  its  arrival.,  by  right  of  the  strong 
arm.,  a7id  turns  it  over  contemptuously. 

Chumer. — 'Ain't  much  in  this  'ere.  On'y 
Jack  the  Ripper  and  a  lot  about  C7-vilians. 
'Might  think  the  'ole  country  was  full  of  Ci- 
vilians.  C/-vilians  an'  drill.  'Strewth  a' 
mighty  !  As  if  a  man  didn't  get  'nuff  drill 
outside  o'  his  evenin'  paiper.  Anybody  got 
the  fill  of  a  pipe  'ere  ? 

Shuckbrugh  {of  B  Company  passing  poucJi). 
— Let's  'ave  'old  o'  that  paper.  Wot's  on  ? 
Wot's  in  ?     No  more  new  drill  1 

Chumer. — Drill  be  sugared  !  When  I  was 
at  'ome,  now  buyin'  my  Ti77ies  orf  the  Rail- 
way stall  like  a  gentleman,  /never  read  nothin' 
about  drill.  There  ivas7i^t  no  drill.  Strike 
me  blind,  these  Injian  papers  ain't  got  nothin' 


324     The  Smith  Administration 

else  to  write  about.  When  'tisn't  our  drill, 
it's  Rooshian  or  Prooshian  or  French.  It's 
Prooshian  now.     Brrh  ! 

Hookey  {E  Co77ipa7iy). — All  for  to  improve 
your  mind,  Chew !  You'll  get  a  first-class 
school-ticket  one  o'  these  days,  if  you  go  on. 

Chumer  {whose  si?'o?ig  poi7it  is  7iot  educa- 
tion).—  Yoti'W  get  a  first-class  head  on  top  o' 
your  shoulders,  'Ook,  if  you  go  on.  You  mind 
that  I  ain't  no  bloomin'  litteratoor  but  .  .  . 

Shuckbrugh. — Go  on  about  the  Prooshians 
an'  let  'Ook  alone.  'Ook  'as  a — wot's  its 
name  ? — fas — fas — fascilitude  for  impartin' 
instruction.  'E's  down  in  the  Captain's  book 
as  sich.     Ain't  you,  'Ook .? 

Chumer  {a7ixious  to  vindicate  kis  edHcatio7i). 
— Listen  'ere!  "  Men  instinck — stinkivlyact 
under  the  excitement  of  the  battle-field  on'y 
as  they  'ave  been  taught  for  to  act  in  peace." 
An'  the  man  that  wrote  thatsez  't  ought  to  be 
printed  in  gold  in  our  barricks. 

Shuckbrugh  {ivho  has  hee7i  tJu-ough  the  Af- 
gha7i  War). — 'Might  a  told  'im  that,  if  he'd 
come  to  77ie,  any  time  these  ten  years 

Hookey  {loftily).— O  I  bid  fair  he's  a 
bloomin'  General.     Wot's  'e  drivin'  at .'' 

Shuckbrugh. — 'E  says  wot  you  do  on 
p'rade  you  do  without  thinkin'  under  fire.  If 
you  was  taught  to  stand  on  your  'ed  on  p'rade, 
you'd  do  so  in  action. 

Chumer. — I'd  lie  on  my  belly  first  for  a  bit, 
if  so  be  there  was  aught  to  lie  be'ind. 

Hookey. —  That's  'ow  you've  been  taught. 


The  Smith  Administration     325 

We're  alius  lyin'  on  our  bellies  be'ind  every 
bloomin'  bush — spoilin'  our  best  clobber. 
Takin'  advantage  o'  cover,  they  call  it. 

Shuckbrugh. — An'  the  more  you  lie  the 
more  you  want  to  lie.      That's  human  natur'. 

Chumer. — It's  rare  good — for  the  henemy. 
I'm  lyin'  'ere  where  this  pipe  is  ;  Shukky's 
there  by  the  'baccy-paper  ;  'Ook  is  there 
be'ind  the  pewter,  an'  the  rest  of  us  all 
over  the  place  crawlin'  on  our  bellies  an' 
poppin'  at  the  smoke  in  front.  Old  Pompey, 
arf  a  mile  be'ind,  sez,  "  The  battalion  will 
now  attack."  Little  Mildred  squeaks  out, 
"  Charrge  ! "  Shukky  an'  me,  an'  you,  an' 
'im.  picks  ourselves  out  o'  the  dirt,  an'  charges. 
But  'ow  the  dooce  can  you  charge  from  skir- 
mishin' order?  That's  wot  I  want  to  know. 
There  ain't  no  touch— there  ain't  no  chello  ; 
an'  the  minut'  the  charge  is  over,  You've  got 
to  play  at  bein'  a  bloomin'  field-rat  all  over 
again. 

General  Chorus. — Bray-vo,  Chew  !  Go 
it,  Sir  Garnet !  Two  pints  and  a  hopper  for 
Chew  !     Ke?'7iel  Chew  ! 

Hookey  {who  has  possessed  himself  0/ the 
paper). — Well,  the  Prooshians  ain't  goin'  to 
have  any  more  o'  that.  There  ain't  goin'  to 
be  no  more  battalion-drill — so  this  bloke  says. 
On'y  just  the  comp'ny  handed  over  to  the 
comp'ny  orf'cer  to  do  wot  'e  likes  with. 

Shuckbrugh. — Gawd  'elp  E  Comp'ny  if 
they  do  that  to  us  I 

Chumer    {hotly). — You're   bloomin'  pious 


326     The  Smith  Administration 

all  of  a   sudden.     Wot's   wrong    with   Little 
Mildred,  I'd  like  to  know  ? 

Shuckbrugh. — Little  Mildred's  all  right. 
It's  his  bloomin'  dandified  Skipper — it's  Collar 
an'  Cuffs — it's  Ho  de  Kolone — it's  Squeaky 
Jim  that  I'm  set  against. 

Chumer. — Well.  Ho  de  Kolone  is  goin' 
'Ome,  an'  maybe  we'll  have  Sugartongs 
instead.  Sugartongs  is  a  hard  drill,  but  'e's 
got  no  bloomin'  frills  about  'im. 

Hookey  {of  E  Cofnpaiiy). — You  ought  to 
'ave  Hackerstone — f'd  wheel  yer  into  line. 
Our  Jemima  ain't  much  to  look  at,  but  'e 
knows  wot  'e  wants  to  do  an'  he  does  it.  E 
don'tclub  the  company  an' damn  the  Sargints, 
Jemima  doesn't.  'E's  a  proper  man  an'  no 
error. 

Shuckbrugh. — Thank  you  for  nothin'. 
Sugartongs  is  a  vast  better.  Mess  Sargint  'e 
told  us  that  Sugartongs  is  goin'  to  be  married 
at  'Ome.  If  'e's  t/iat,  o'  course  'e  won't  be  no 
good  ;  but  the  Mess  Sargint's  a  bloomin'  liar 
mostly. 

Chumer. — Sugartongs  won't  marry — not  'e. 
'E's  too  fond  o'  the  regiment.  Little  Mildred's 
like  to  do  that  first ;  bein'  so  young. 

Hookey  [retuniing  to  paper). —  "  On'y  the 
comp'ny  an'  the  comp'ny  orf'cer  doin'  what 
'e  thinks  'is  men  can  do."  'Strewth  !  Our 
Jemima'd  make  us  dance  down  the  middle  an' 
back  again.  But  what  would  they  do  with  our 
Colonel  "i  I  don't  catch  the  run  o'  this  new  trick 
of  company  officers  thinkin'  for  themselves. 


The  Smith  Administration     327 

Shuckbrugh. — Give  'im  a  stickin'  plaster 
to  keep  'im  on  ^is  'orse  at  battalion  p'rade, 
an'  lock  'im  up  in  ord'ly-room  'tween  whiles. 
Me  an'  one  or  two  more  would  see  'im  now 
an'  again.     Ho  !  Ho  ! 

Chumer.  a  Colonel's  a  bloomin'  Colonel 
anyway.     'Can't  do  without  a  Colonel. 

Shuckbrugh. — 'Oo  said  we  would,  you 
fool  ?  Colonel'U  give  his  order,  "  Go  an'  do 
this  an'  go  an'  do  that,  an'  do  it  quick." 
Sugartongs  'e  salutes  an'  Jemima  "e  salutes 
an'  orf  we  goes ;  Little  Mildred  trippin'  over 
'is  sword  every  other  step.  We  know  Sugar- 
tongs  ;  you  know  Jemima ;  an'  f/iey  know  zfs. 
*'Come  on,"  sez  they.  *'  Come  on  it  is,"  sez 
we  ;  an'  we  don'  crawl  on  our  bellies  no  more, 
but  comes  on.  Old  Pompey  has  given  'is 
orders  an'  we  does  'em.  Old  Pompey  can't 
cut  in  to  with :  "  Wot  the  this  an'  that  are 
you  doin'  there  ?  Retire  your  men.  Go  to 
Blazes  and  cart  cinders,"  an'  such  like. 
There's  a  deal  in  that  there  notion  of  inde- 
pendent commands. 

Chumer. — There  is.  It's  'ow  it  comes  in 
action  anywoys,  if  it  isn't  wot  it  comes  on 
p'rade.  But  look  'ere,  wot  'appens  if  you 
don't  know  your  bloomin'  orf'cer,  an'  'e  don't 
know  nor  care  a  brass  farden  about  you — 
like  Squeakin'  Jim  ? 

Hookey. — Things  *appens,  as  a  rule  ;  an* 
then  again  they  don't  some'ow.  There's  a 
deal  o'  luck  knockin'  about  the  world,  an' 
takin'  one  thing  with  another  a  fair  shares  o* 


328     The  Smith  Administration 

that  comes  to  the  Army,  'Cordin'  to  this  'ere 
{Jte  thumps  the  paper)  we  ain't  got  no  weppings 
worth  the  name,  an'  we  don't  know  'ow  to  use 
'em  when  we  'ave — I  didn't  mean  your  belt, 
Chew — we  ain't  got  no  orf'cers ;  we  'ave  got 
bloomin'  swipes  forhquor. 

Chumer  [sotto  voce). — Yuss.  Undred  an' 
ten  gallons  beer  made  out  of  a  heighty-four- 
gallon  cask  an'  the  strength  kep'  up  with 
'baccy.     Yah  !     Go  on,  'Ook. 

Hookey. — We  ain't  got  no  drill,  we  ain't 
got  no  men,  we  ain't  got  no  kit,  nor  yet  no 
bullocks  to  carry  it  if  we  'ad — where  in  the 
name  o'  fortune  do  all  our  bloomin'  victories 
come  from  ?  It's  a  tail-uppards  way  o'  work- 
in  ';  but  where  do  the  victories  come  from  ? 

Shuckbrugh  {recovering  his  pipe  from  Hoc- 
kefs  mouth). — Ask  Little  Mildred — 'e  carries 
the  Colors.  Chew,  are  you  goin'  to  the 
bazaar  ? 


The  Smith  Administration     329 


THE     OPINIONS    OF     GUNNER    BAR- 
NABAS. 

A  NARROW-MINDED  Legislature  sets  its  face 
against  that  Atkins,  whose  Christian  name  is 
Thomas,  drinking  with  the  "  civilian."  To 
this  prejudice  I  and  Gunner  Barnabas  rise 
superior.  Ever  since  the  night  when  he,  weep- 
ing, asked  me  whether  the  road  was  as  frisky 
as  his  mule,  and  then  fell  head-first  from  the 
latter  on  the  former,  we  have  entertained  a 
respect  for  each  other.  I  wondered  that  he 
had  not  been  instantly  killed,  and  he  that  I 
had  not  reported  him  to  various  high  Military 
Authorities  then  in  sight,  instead  of  gently 
rolling  him  down  the  hillside  till  the  danger 
was  overpast.  On  that  occasion,  it  cannot  be 
denied  that  Gunner  Barnabas  was  drunk. 
Later  on,  as  our  intimacy  grew,  he  explained 
briefly  that  he  had  been  "  overtaken  "  for  the 
first  time  in  three  years  ;  and  I  had  no  reason 
to  doubt  the  truth  of  his  words. 

Gunner  Barnabas  was  a  lean,  heavy-browed, 
hollow-eyed  giant,  with  a  mustache  of  the 
same  hue  and  texture  as  his  mule's  tail.  Much 
had  he  seen  from  Karachi  to  Bhamo,  and,  so 
his  bosom  friend,  McGair,  assured  me,  had 
once  killed  a  man  "  with  'e's  naked  fistes." 
But  it  was  hard  to  make  him  talk.  When  he 
was   moved  to  speech,  he  roved  impartially 


330     The  Smith  Administration 

from  one  dialect  to  another,  being  a  Devon- 
shire man,  brought  up  in  the  slums  of  Fratton, 
nearly  absorbed  into  Portsmouth  Dockyard, 
sent  to  Ireland  as  a  blacksmith's  assistant, 
educated  imperfectly  in  London,  and  there 
enlisted  into  what  he  profanely  called  a  *'  Jim- 
jam  batt'ry."  "  They  want  big  'uns  for  the 
work  we  does,"  quoth  Gunner  Barnabas,  bring- 
ing down  a  huge  hairy  hand  on  his  mule's 
withers.  "Big  'uns  an'  steady  ^uns."  He 
flung  the  bridle  over  the  mule's  head,  hitched 
the  beast  to  a  tree,  and  settled  himself  on  a 
boulder  ere  lighting  an  unspeakably  rank 
bazaar-cheroot. 

The  current  of  conversation  flowed  for  a 
while  over  the  pebbles  of  triviality.  Then,  in 
answer  to  a  remark  of  mine,  Gunner  Barnabas 
heaved  his  huge  shoulders  clear  of  the  rock 
and  rolled  out  his  mind  between  puffs.  We 
had  touched  tenderly  and  reverently  on  the 
great  question  of  temperance  in  the  Army. 
Gunner  Barnabas  pointed  across  the  valley  to 
the  Commander-in-Chief's  house  and  spoke  : 
"  Tm  as  lives  over  yonder  is  goin'  the  right 
way  to  work,"  said  he.  "  You  can  make  a 
man  march  by  reg'lation,  make  a  man  fire  by 
reg'lation,  make  a  man  load  up  a  bloomin' 
mule  by  reg'lation.  You  can't  make  him  a 
Blue  Light  by  reg'lation,  and  that's  the  only 
thing  as  'ill  make  the  Blue  Lights  stop  grousin' 
and  stifhn'.''  It  should  be  explained  for  the 
benefit  of  the  uninitiated,  that  a  "  Blue  Light  " 
is  a  Good  Templar,  that  "  grousing  "  is  sulking, 


The  Smith  Administration     331 

and  "  stiffin  "  is  using  unparliamentary  lan- 
guage. "  An'  Blue  Lights,  specially  when  the 
orf  cer  commanding  is  a  Blue  Light  too,  is  a 
won'erful  fool.  You  never  be  a  Blue  Light, 
Sir,  not  so  long  as  you  live."  I  promised 
faithfully  that  the  Blue  Lights  should  burn 
without  me  to  all  Eternity,  and  demanded  of 
Gunner  Barnabas  the  reasons  for  his  dislike. 
My  friend  formulated  his  indictment  slowly 
and  judicially.  ^'  Sometimes  a  Blue  Light's  a 
blue  shirker  ;  very  often  'e's  a  noosance  ;  and 
more  than  often  'e's  a  lawyer,  with  more  chin 
than  'e  or  'is  friends  wants  to  'ear.  When  a 
man — any  man — sez  to  me  'you're  damned, 
and  there  ain't  no  trustin'  you,' — meanin'  not 
as  you  or  I  sittin'  'ere  might  say  'you  be 
damned  *  comfortable  an'  by  way  o'  makin' 
talk  like,  but  reg'lar  damned — why,  naturally, 
I  ain't  pleased.  Now  when  a  Blue  Light  ain't 
sayiii'  that  'e's  throwin'  out  a  forty-seven  inch 
chest  hinside  of  'isself  as  it  was,  an'  letting 
you  see  'e  thinks  it.  I  hate  a  Blue  Light. 
But  there's  some  is  good,  better  than  ord'nary, 
and  them  I  has  nothing  to  say  against.  What 
I  sez  is,  too  much  bloomin'  'oliness  ain't 
proper,  nor  fit  for  man  or  beast."  He  threw 
himself  back  on  the  ground  and  drove  his 
boot-heels  into  the  mould.  Evidently,  Gunner 
Barnabas  had  suffered  from  the  "  Blue  Lights  " 
at  some  portion  of  his  career.  I  suggested 
mildly  that  the  Order  to  which  he  objected 
was  doing  good  work,  and  quoted  statistics  to 
prove  thiS;  but  the  great   Gunner  remained 


332     The  Smith  Administration 

unconvinced.  "  Look  'ere,"  said  he,  "if  you 
knows  anything  o'  the  likes  o'  us,  you  knows 
that  the  Blue  Lights  sez  when  a  man  drinks 
he  drinks  for  the  purpose  of  meanin'  to  be 
bloomin'  drunk,  and  there  ain't  no  safety  'cept 
in  not  drinking  at  all.  Now  that  ain't  all  true. 
There's  men  as  can  drink  their  whack  and  be 
no  worse  for  it.  Them's  grown  men,  for  the 
boys  drink  for  honor  and  glory — Lord  'elp  'em 
— 'an  they  should  be  dealt  with  dilf'rent. 

"  But  the  Blue  Light  'e  sez  to  us  :  *  You 
drink  mod'rate  ?  You  ain't  got  it  in  you,  an' 
you  don't  come  into  our  nice  rooms  no  more. 
You  go  to  the  Canteen  an'  hog  your  liquor 
there.'  Now  I  put  to  you,  Sir,  as  a  friend, 
are  that  the  sort  of  manners  to  projuce  good 
feelin'  in  a  rig'ment  or  anywhere  else  t  And 
when  'Im  that  lives  over  yonder  " — out  went 
the  black-bristled  hand  once  more  towards 
Snowdon — "  sez  in  a — in  a — pamphlick  which 
it  is  likely  you  'ave  seen  " — Barnabas  was 
talking  down  to  my  civilian  intellect — "  sez 
'come  on  and  be  mod'rate  them  as  can,  an' 
I'll  see  that  your  Orf'cer  Commandin'  'elps' 
you ; '  up  gets  the  Blue  Lights  and  sez : 
'  'Strewth  !  the  Commander-in-Chief  is  aidin' 
an'  abettin'  the  Devil  an'  all  'is  Angels.  You 
can't  be  mod'rate,'  sez  the  Blue  Lights,  an' 
that's  what  makes  'em  feel  'oly.  Garrn ! 
It's  settin' 'emselves  up  for  bein'  better  men 
than  them  as  commands  'em,  an'  puttin'  diffi- 
culties all  roun'  an'  about.  That's  a  bloomin' 
Blue  Light  all  over,  that  is.     What  I  sez  is 


The  Smith  Administration     333 

give  the  mod'rate  lay  a  chance.  I  s'pose 
there's  room  even  for  Blue  Lights  an'  men 
without  aprins  in  this  'ere  big  Army.  Let  the 
Blue  Lights  take  off  their  aprins  an'  'elp  the 
mod'rate  men  if  they  ain't  too  proud.  I  ain't 
above  goin'  out  on  pass  with  a  Blue  Light  if 
'e  sez  I'm  a  man,  an'  not  an  — untrustable 
Devil  always  a-hankerin'  after  lush.  But  con- 
trariwise^'— Gunner  Barnabas  stopped. 

"  Contrariwise  how  ?  "  said  L 

"  If  I  was  'Im  as  lives  over  yonder,  an'  you 
was  me,  an'  you  u^ouldn't  take  the  mod'rate 
lay,  an'  was  a-comin'  on  the  books  and  other- 
wise a-misconductin'  of  yourself,  I  would  say : 
'  Gunner  Barnabas,'  I  would  say,  an'  by  that 
I  would  be  understood  to  be  addressin'  every- 
body with  a  uniform,  '  you  are  a  incorrigable 
in-tox-i-cator  '  " — Barnabas  sat  up,  folded  his 
arms,  and  assumed  an  air  of  ultra-judicial 
ferocity — " '  reported  to  me  as  such  by  your 
Orf'cer  Commandin.'  Very  good,  Gunner 
Barnabas,'  I  would  say.  '  I  cannot,  knowin' 
what  I  do  o'  the  likes  of  you,  subjergate  your 
indecent  cravin'  for  lush ;  but  I  will  edgercate 
you  to  hold  your  liquor  without  offense  to 
them  as  is  your  friends  an'  companions,  an' 
without  danger  to  the  Army  if  so  be  you're  on 
sentry-go.  I  will  make  your  life.  Gunner  Bar- 
nabas, such  that  you  will  pray  on  your  two 
bended  knees  for  to  be  shut  of  it.  You  shall 
be  flogged  between  the  guns  if  you  disgracs  a 
Batt'ry,  or  in  hollow  square  o'  the  rig'ment  if 
you  belong  to  the  Fut,  or  from  stables  to  bar- 


334     The  Smith  Administration 

ricks  and  back  again  if  you  are  Cav'lry.  I'll 
clink  you  till  you  forget  what  the  sun  looks 
like,  an'  I'll  pack-drill  you  till  your  kit  grows 
into  your  shoulder-blades  like  toadstools  on  a 
stump.  I'll  learn  you  to  be  sober  when  the 
Widow  requires  of  your  services,  an'  if  I  don't 
learn  you  I'll  kill  you.  Understan'  that^ 
Gunner  Barnabas ;  for  tenderness  is  wasted 
on  the  likes  o'  you.  You  shall  learn  for  to 
control  yourself  for  fear  o'  your  dirty  life  ;  an' 
so  long  as  that  fear  is  over  you,  Gunner  Bar- 
nabas, you'll  be  a  man  worth   the  shootin '.' " 

Gunner  Barnabas  stopped  abruptly  and 
broke  into  a  laugh.  "  I'm  as  bad  as  the  Blue 
Lights,  only  'tother  way  on.  But  'tis  a  fact 
that  in  spite  o'  any  amount  o'  mod'ration  and 
pamphlicks  we've  got  a  scatterin'  o'  young 
imps  an*  old  devils  wot  you  can't  touch  excep' 
through  the  hide  o'  them,  and  by  cuttin'  deep 
at  that.  Some  o'  the  young  ones  wants  but 
one  leatherin'  to  keep  the  fear  o'  drink  before 
their  eyes  for  years  an'  years  ;  some  o'  the 
old  ones  wants  leatherin'  now  and  again,  for 
the  want  of  drink  is  in  their  marrer.  You  talk, 
an'  you  talk,  an'  you  talk  o'  what  a  fine  fellow 
the  Privit  Sodger  is — an  so  'e  is  many  of  him  ; 
but  there's  one  med'cin'  or  one  sickness  that 
you've  guv  up  too  soon.  Preach  an'  Blue 
Light  an'  medal  and  teach  us,  but,  for  some 
of  us,  keep  the  whipcord  handy." 

Barnabas  had  rather  startled  me  by  the 
vehemence  of  his  words.  He  must  have  seen 
this,  for  he  said  with   a  twinkle  in  his  eye : 


The  Smith  Administration     335 

**  I  should  have  made  a  first-class  Blue  Light 
— rammin'  double-charges  home  in  this  way. 
Well,  I  know  I'm  speakin'  truth,  and  the  Blue 
Light  thinks  he  is,  I  s'pose;  an'  it's  too  big  a 
business  for  you  an'  me  to  settle  in  one  after- 
noon." 

The  sound  of  horses'  feet  came  from  the 
path  above  our  heads.     Barnabas  sprang  up. 

"  Orfer  an'  'rf'cer's  lady,"  said  he,  relaps- 
ing into  his  usual  speech.  'Won't  do  for  you 
to  be  seen  a-talkin'  with  the  likes  o'  me. 
Hutup  kurcha  I " 

And  with  a  stumble,  a  crash,  and  a  jingle  of 
harness,  Gunner  Barnabas  went  his  way. 


B     000  019  669     1 


